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t. 


AUTHOR: 


MILLER,  FRANK  JUSTUS 


TITLE: 


r 


TWO  DRAMATIZATIONS 

FROM  VERGIL.. 

PLACE: 

CHICAGO 

DA  TE : 

1908 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 


Master  Negative  # 


BIBLIOGRAPHIC  MICROFORM  TARGET 


Original  Material  as  Filmed  -  Existing  Bibliographic  Record 


87VL 
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Aeneis. 
English. 


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Virffil 


Two  (Inuiializations  from  Vergil,  i.  Dido— the  Plidjniri.ui 
queen.  II.  The  fall  of  Troy.  Arran«;e(l  and  transhded  into 
Encrjish  verso  by  Frank  Jnstus  Miller  ...  The  sta<^e.  direc- 
tions and  ninsic  for  (ho  Dido  arc  contrihuled  hy  J,  Ivjdei^h 
Nelson.     C)iioa*;o,  The  Univer.sity  of  Chieago  pnvv^,  1J)()S. 

V,  I'JO  p.     front.,  plates,  dinars.    lOp. 


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The  first  edition  of  this  volume,  contnlnlnp  only  the  Dido:  an  epic 
trnf:e<ly  ...  was  putdlshed  in  lOOO.'*— I'ref.  to  2d  e<l. 
Music :  p.  c^^'li-.^^.S^ 

Cauv  in  College.   «1917>  vii.  120p. 

I    ^Tftlor.  Frank  .lusTiis,  ISoS-lOTiS,  tr.     ir.  Wisoii,  J<»scph  IlnlolKli. 

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THE  LIBRARIES 


GIFT  OF 

NELSON  GLENN  McCREA 


I  Two  Dramatizations  From 

Vergil 

I.   DIDO — The  Phoenician  Queen 
II.  THE  FALL  OF  TROY 


ARRANGED  AND  TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  VERSE 

BY 

FRANK  JUSTUS  MILLER 

Author  of  The  Tragedies  of  Seneca,  Translated  into  English  Verse 


The  Stage  Directions  and  Music  for  the  Dido  Are  Contributed  by 
J.  RALEIGH  NELSON 


•   CHICAGO  •     • 
THE  UNIVEPSTTV  OF  CHICAGO  PRESS 


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Copyright  1908  By 
Frank  Justus  Miller 

Published  September  1908 


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PREFACE 

The  epic  is  a  drama  on  gigantic  scale ;  its  acts  are  years 
or  centuries ;  its  actors,  heroes ;  its  stage,  the  world  of  life ; 
its  events,  those  mighty  cycles  of  activity  that  leave  their 
deep  impress  on  human  history.     Homer's  epics  reenact 
the  stirring  scenes  of  the  ten  years'  siege  of  Troy,  and  the 
perilous,  long  wanderings  of  Ulysses  before  he  reached  his 
home;  Vergil's  epic  action  embraces  the  fall  of  Troy  and 
the  never-ending  struggles  of  ^Eneas  and  his  band  of  exiles 
till  Troy  should  rise  again  in  the   western   world;   Tasso 
pictures  the  heroic  war  of  Godfrey  and  his  crusaders,  who 
strove  to  free  the  holy  city  of   Jerusalem;    and    Milton, 
ignoring  all  bounds  of  time  and  space,  fills  his  triple  stage 
of  heaven,  earth,  and  hell  with  angels,  men,  and  devils, 
all  working  out  the  most  stupendous  problems  of  human 
destiny. 

Such  gigantic  dramas  could  be  presented  on  no  human 
stage.  But  in  them  all  are  lesser  actions  of  marked  dra- 
matic possibility.  Notable  among  these  are  the  events 
culminating  in  the  death  of  Hector,  the  home  coming  of 
Ulysses  and  his  destruction  of  the  suitors,  Satan's  rebellion 
and  expulsion  from  heaven,  and  the  temptation  and  fall  of 
man.  All  these  furnish  abundant  material  for  the  tragic 
stage;  but  all  leave  much  to  be  supplied  of  speech  and 
action  before  the  full-rounded  drama  could  take  form.  In 
the  ^neid  alone  is  found,  among  the  minor  parts  which 
make  up  the  epic  whole,  a  dramatic  action  well-nigh  com- 
plete—the love  story  of  iEneas  and  Dido. 

•  •  • 

111 


I 


IV 


Preface 


(/ 


The  ordinary  student  of  Vergil  is  too  much  engrossed 
with  an  intensive  study  of  the  text,  and  has  too  near  a  view 
of  the  poem,  to  appreciate  how  fully  this  story  is  worked 
out  in  detail ;  how  its  speech,  action,  and  events  all  lead  to 
a  dramatic  climax.  There  is  need  only  here  and  there  of 
an  interpolated  lyric  upon  some  suggested  theme,  a  bit  of 
Vergil's  description  of  action  or  feeling  expressed  in  the 
actor's  words,  an  interjected  line  to  relieve  the  strain  of  too 
long  speech  -all  else  is  Vergil's  own,  ready  to  be  lifted  out 
of  Its  larger  epic  setting  and  portrayed  upon  the  stage. 

In  arranging  and  translating  this  epic  tragedy,  the  authors 
have  made  only  such  minor  additions  and  alterations  of  the 
original  as  seemed   necessary  from  the  dramatic  point  of 
view.     Prominent   among   these   are   the   introduction   of 
lyrics  at  certain  points,  the  obviously  necessary  curtailing 
of  the  banquet  scene  by  the  omission  of  the  long  narra- 
tive of  ^neas,  and  the  removal  behind  the  scenes  of  the 
final  tragedy  of  Dido's  suicide.      The  lyrical  parts  have 
been  set  to  original  music  in  sympathy  with  the  themes; 
stage  action  and  scenery  are  suggested  by  outline  drawings 
of  the  different  settings;  and  idealized  figures  and  costumes 
are  reproduced  from  ancient  vases  and  bas-reliefs.     These 
figures  have,  in  some  cases,  been  assigned  by  scholars  to 
other  subjects;    but   they    may    be    taken,    for  the   pur- 
poses  of  the  present  work,  as  illustrative  of  the  characters 
designated. 

With  full  consciousness  of  the  shortcomings  of  the  work, 
but  with  the  hope  also  of  assisting  the  student  in  school 
and  home  to  a  fuller  appreciation  of  the  power  and  beauty 
of  Vergil,  this  volume  is  respectfully  presented  to  the 
public. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION 

The  first  edition  of  this  volume,  containing  only  the 
Dido:  An  Epic  Tragedy,  a  dramatization  of  the  love  story  of 
-^neas  and  Dido,  was  published  in  1900,  and  met  with  a 
gratifying  success.  Teachers  of  Vergil  have  found  the 
book  an  interesting  supplement  to  their  study  and  presen- 
tation of  the  text;  and  in  numerous  instances  high-school 
ani  college  classes  have  staged  the  play  with  most  excellent 
results. 

The  book  has  been  out  of  print  for  several  years;  but 
the  continued  demand  from  teachers  who  desire  to  use  it 
has  made  a  second  edition  desirable.  This  is  accordingly 
offered  in  the  present  volume,  under  a  new  title,  and  con- 
taining a  second  dramatization  from  Vergil — this  from  the 
second  JSneid,  the  story  of  the  Fall  of  Troy. 

F.  J.  M. 

Chicago,  1908 


-* ,  .4  js,; 


y^ 


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) 


THE  ARGUMENT 

For  ten  years  the  Greeks  had  besieged  Troy,  and  on  the 
tenth  they  took  and  utterly  destroyed  that  ancient  city.  The 
tnhabttants  who  had  escaped  captivity  and  the  sword,  wan- 
dered  tn  exile  to  many  quarters  of  the  earth.  Now  the  chief 
band  of  exiles  was  led  by  Jineas,  son  of  Venus  and  Anchises 
and  son-tn-law  of  Priam,  king  of  Troy. 

After  many  adventures  on  land  and  sea,  ^neas  came,  in 
the  sixth  year,  to  Sicily,  where  he  was  kitidly  entertained  by 
Acestes,  king  of  that  land,  and  where  his  aged  father  died 
and  was  buried  Thence  setting  sail  in  the  summer  of  the 
seventh  year,  he  approached  the  shores  of  Africa.  Here  a 
violent  storm  arose  which  scattered  and  all  but  destroyed  the 
1  rojan  ships,  ^neas,  with  a  number  of  his  companions 
was  cast  upon  a  desert  coast,  where  they  passed  the  night 
m  gloomy  forebodings.  Tn  the  early  morning,  ^neas  and 
Achates  set  forth  to  explore  the  land,  and  came  to  the  newly 
Jounded  city  of  Carthage. 

Now  Phcenician  Dido,  also,  with  a  band  of  exiles,  had  fled 
from  her  native  Tyre,  to  escape  the  persecutions  of  her  brother 
Pygmalion,  who  had  already  slain   Sycliceus,  her  husband 
And  to  the  land  of  Africa  had  she  come,  and  built  her  a  city 
even  the  city  of  Carthage. 

And  so  these  two,  ^neas,  prince  6f  Troy,  and  Dido,  fugi- 
ttve  from  Tyre,  now  meet  in  distant  Africa  and  live  the 
tragedy  which  fate  has  held  in  store. 


THE  PERSONS  OF  THE  DRAMA 

^NEAS,  prince  of  Troy,  and  leader  of  the  Trojan  exiles. 

Achates,  confidential  friend  of  -^neas. 

Ilioneus,  a  Trojan  noble. 

DIDO,  the  queen  of  Carthage. 

Anna,  sister  of  Dido. 

Barce,  nurse  of  Dido. 

loPAS,  a  Carthaginian  minstrel. 

Iarbas,  a  Moorish  prince,  suitor  for  the  hand  of  Dido. 

Juno,  queen  of  Jupiter  and  protectress  of  the  Carthaginians,  hos- 
tile to  Troy. 

Venus,  the  goddess  of  love,  mother  of  ^neas,  and  protectress 
of  the  Trojans. 

Cupid,  son  of  Venus,  god  of  love. 

Mercury,  the  messenger  of  Jupiter. 

Maidens,    Courtiers,    Soldiers,    Attendants,    Servants,    etc.,    in 

Dido*s  train. 
Nobles,  Sailors,  etc.,  in  the  band  of  ^neas. 


THE  PRELUDE 

[For  music,  see  p.  57] 

Arma  virumque  cano,  Troiae  qui  primus  ab  oris 
Italiam,  fato  profugus,  Lavinaque  venit 
Litora,  multum  ille  et  terris  iactatus  et  alto 
Vi  superum,  saevae  memorem  lunonis  ob  iram, 
Multa  quoque  et  bello  passus,  dum  conderet  urbem, 
Inferretque  deos  Latio:  genus  unde  Latinum 
Albanique  patres  atque  altae  moenia  Romse. 
Musa,  mihi  causas  memora,  quo  numine  laeso, 
Quidve  dolens,  regina  deum  tot  volvere  casus 
Insignem  pietate  virum,  tot  adire  labores 
Impulerit.     Tantaene  animis  caelestibus  irse  ? 


\ 


i 


Dido— The  Phoenician  Queen 

Act  I.    Scene  i 


CarthaL  Tn  fhl  Jf .  P'''  T^'"  ^'^°''  '^^.  ^""^P^^  ^^  J""«  «"  ^  height  near 
wTpf;h..^  1  f*"i^i^'^^  ""^^^  '•  2'  3  appear  mountains,  and  at  their 
Th.  X5  f  /•  ^^l^^'^r^?  ^bout  the  harbor  where  ships  are  riding  at  anchor 
The  effect  of  elevation  is  increased  by  the  unfinished  columns  and  the  tree  torn 
jusl:  showing  above  the  low  marble  wall  which  enclose?  thrsquarr  Th^s 
J?  ItV^l  "•""'  'H^  ''  "•  3,  to  increase  the  perspective       ^  '' 

At  the  first  wing  on  the  right  (5).  a  colonnade,  leading  to  a  flight  of  sten^ 

WH  '^'  IV'^"'"  ^!;r  ^^"  ^^^y  ^^1°^-  On  the  same  sidl  along  the  wall  is  a 
broad  marble  seat  (6),  shaded  by  a  wild  crab  tree,  pink  witKom       The 

fro  t'of  ZTeZl  r7f^V'  ^^  r^'^  T^^  ^^"7  P^^^'  On  thiTi  isThe' 
ironi  01  tne  temple  (7).     Two  large  columns  of   white   marble   flank   thri»i. 

broad  steps  leading  to  the  platfom.  Above  these  columns  the  archi  rave 
beairsafneze  representing  scenes  from  the  Trojan  war  Before  the  temole 
door  is  an  altar  on  which  fire  is  burning  ^  * 

ar^Lin^  b '^  ?-^  the  curtain   a  chorus  of  Carthaginian  maidens,  clad  in  white 

to  the  da^";''^"^  ^'^'''  '^'  ^^^^^-  ^^«^«-»p'«  «teps;  they  sing  a  grretfi^ 


lO 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


Hymn  to  the  Dawn 

[For  music,  see  p.  6i] 

Wake,  Aurora,  Wake! 

Come,  rosy-fingered  goddess  of  the  dawn, 
The  saffron  couch  of  old  Tithonus  scorning; 
Fling  wide  the  golden  portals  of  the  morning, 
And  bid  the  gloomy  mists  of  night  be  gone. 

Hail,  Aurora,  Hail! 

The  dewy  stars  have  sped  their  silent  flight, 
The  fuller  glories  of  thy  rays  expecting; 
With  rosy  beauty  from  afar  reflecting. 
Thy  Orient  steeds  come  panting  into  sight. 

Rise,  Apollo,  Rise! 

Send  forth  thy  healing  rays  to  greet  the  world, 
Upon  the  lands  thy  blessed  radiance  streaming; 
Arise,  and  fling  afar,  in  splendor  gleaming. 
The  banners  of  thy  golden  light  unfurled. 

Enter  iEneas  and  Achates,  on  their  way  into  the  city,  evidently  attracted 
hither  by  the  singing,  -^neas  is  resplendent  in  full  armor.  Achates  wears 
the  Phrygian  costume  :  long  trousers  of  brown,  a  tunic  of  deep  old  blue,  ornate 
with  embroidered  patterns  in  gold  and  purple  thread  ;  over  this  a  travel- 
ing cloak  of  brown.  He  carries  two  spears.  The  maidens  withdraw  and 
as  their  voices  grow  fainter  iEneas  and  Achates  kneel  before  the  altar.  The 
light  brightens.  A  bugle  call  in  the  distance  rouses  them  from  their  devotion. 
They  arise.     Enter  Venus,  dressed  as  a  huntress. 

Venus  {^neidy  I.  321-324): 

I  crave  your  grace,  good  sirs.     If  my  attendant  maids 
Have  chanced  to  wander  hither,  quiver-girt,  and  clad 
In  tawny  robes  of  fur,  the  trophies  of  the  chase, 
Or  with  triumphant  shouts  close  pressing  in  pursuit 
The  foaming  boar, — I  fain  would  know  their  course. 


ACHATES 


II 


Act  I.     Scene  i 

JEneas  (326-334)  : 

Fair  maid, 
No  huntress  of  thy  train  have  we  beheld,  nor  heard 
The  clamor  of  their  chase. — But  oh,  no  mortal  maid 
Art  thou !     Th*  immortal  beauty  of  thy  face  and  voice 
Proclaim  thee  goddess.     Art  thou  Phoebus'  sister  then  ? 
Or  some  fair  nymph  ?    Whoe'er  thou  art,  we  crave  thy  grace: 
Be  merciful  and  tell  beneath  what  sky  at  length, 
Upon  what  shores  we  're  tossed.     For  ignorant  of  men 
And  land  we  wander,  driven  on  by  wind  and  wave 
In  vast  conspiracy. 

Full  many  a  victim  slain 
Upon  thine  altars  shall  repay  thine  aid. 


Venus  (335-350) : 

For  me, 
I  claim  no  homage  due  the  gods.     Behold  a  maid 
Of  ancient  Tyre,  with  quiver  girt  and  feet  high  shod 
With  purple  buskin — such  our  country's  garb.     Thou  seest 
Before  thee  Punic  realms  ;  the  city  and  its  men 
Are  both  alike  Phoenician ;  but  around  them  lie 
The  borders  of  the  Libyans,  hardy  race,  unmatched 
In  war.     The  city  owns  the  sway  of  Dido,  late 
Escaped  from  Tyre  and  from  her  brother's  threat'nings.     Long 
The  stor}?-  of  her  wrongs,  and  devious  its  way ; 
But  here  I  '11  trace  the  outline  of  her  history. 
Her  husband  was  Sychaeus,  of  his  countrymen 
The  richest  far  in  wide  possessions;  well  beloved 
By  his  ill-fated  bride  was  he,  whose  virgin  hand 
In  wedlock's  primal  rite  her  sire  had  given  him. 
But  Tyre's  domain  Pygmalion  her  brother  held, 
Surpassing  all  in  crime.     Between  these  Tyrian  lords 
A  deadly  feud  arose.     With  impious  hand  and  blind 


f\ 


12 


Dido— The  Phcenician  Queen 


I 


With  love  of  gold,  Pygmalion,  at  the  altar-side, 
With  stealthy,  unsuspected  stroke  Sychsus  slew; 
And  little  recked  he  of  his  sister's  doting  love. 

y£fu^as(lIL  56,  57): 

O  awful,  quenchless  thirst  of  gold!     'T  was  ever  thus 
That  thou  hast  spurred  the  hearts  of  men  to  deeds  of  blood. 

F^nus  (I.  351-370): 

He  long  concealed  the  deed  with  wanton,  feigned  excuse, 
And  mocked  his  sister,  sick  at  heart,  with  empty  hopes. 
In  vain  :  for  in  the  visions  of  the  night  the  shade, 
The  pallid  shade  of  her  unburied  husband  came; 
The  cruel  altar  and  his  pierced  breast  he  showed. 
And  all  the  hidden  guilt  of  that  proud  house  revealed. 
He  bade  her  speed  her  flight  and  leave  her  fatherland. 
And  showed,  to  aid  her  cause,  deep  buried  in  the  earth, 
An  ancient  treasure,  store  of  silver  and  of  gold 
Uncounted. 

Thus  forewarned  the  queen  prepared  her  flight 
And  bade  her  comrades  join  her  enterprise.     They  came, 
Whom  hatred  or  consuming  terror  of  the  prince 
Inspired.     A  fleet  of  ships  at  anchor  chanced  to  lie 
In  waiting.     These  they  seized  and  quickly  filled  with  gold; 
Pygmalion's  treasure,  heaped  with  greedy  care,  was  reft 
Away  upon  the  sea,  a  woman  leading  all. 
They  reached  at  last  the  place  where  now  the  mighty  walls 
And  newly  rising  citadel  of  Carthage  stand. 
But  who  and  whence  are  ye  ?  and  whither  do  ye  fare  ? 

^«iftf J  (372-385): 

O  goddess,  if  beginning  at  the  first  the  tale 

Of  direful  woes  on  land  and  deep  I  should  relate, 


: 


I 


VENUS   IN   THE  GARB  OF  A   HUNTRESS 


i 


1 


Act  I.     Scene  i 


13 


The  day,  before  my  story's  end,  would  sink  to  rest. 

From  Troy  (perchance  the  name  of  Troy  has  reached  your  ears) 

Borne  over  many  seas,  the  fitful  tempest's  will 

Has  brought  us  to  these  shores. 

.  -^neas  am  I  called, 

The  Pious,  for  that  in  my  ships  I  ever  bear 
My  country's  gods,  snatched  from  our  burning  Troy.     My  fame 
O'erleaps  the  stars.     My  quest  is  Italy,  a  land 
And  race  that  mighty  Jove  hath  promised  me.     For  this. 
With  score  of  vessels  staunch  I  braved  the  Phrygian  sea,' 
By  Venus'  star  directed  and  by  fate  impelled. 
But  oh,  alas  for  Venus'  star,  alas  for  fate! 
Scarce  seven  shattered  barks  survive  the  waves,  and  I— 
And  I,  a  beggared  stranger,  wander  helpless  here, 
A  fugitive  from  all  the  world. 

F<f«ftfj  (387-401): 

Whoe'er  thou  art, 
Full  sure  am  I  the  gods  must  love  thee  well,  since  thou 
Through  dangers  manifold  hast  reached  this  Tynan  realm. 
But  haste  thee  and  with  heart  of  cheer  seek  out  the  queen! 
For  lo,  thy  friends  are  rescued  and  thy  fleet  restored, 
Unless  in  vain  my  parents  taught  me  augury. 
For  see,  those  joyous  swans  are  fluttering  to  the  earth, 
Which,  swooping  from  the  sky,  but  now  the  bird  of  Jove 
Was  harrying.     As  they,  with  fluttering  wings  and  cries 
Of  joy  regain  the  earth,  so,  by  this  token  know, 
Thy  ships  and  comrades  even  now  are  safe  in  port, 
Or  with  full  sails  the  harbor's  mouth  are  entering.' 
Then  fare  thee  on,  and  follow  where  the  path  of  fate 
May  lead. 

As  Venus  vanishes  from  the  temple  steps  she  is  illumined  in  rosy  light. 


14 


Dido — The  Phcenician  Queen 


j^neas  (402-409): 

Achates,  see  the  bright  refulgent  glow 
Upon  her  face!     'T  is  light  divine!     And  from  her  locks 
Ambrosial,  heavenly  odors  breathe !     Her  garments  sweep 
In  stately  folds,  and  she  doth  walk,  a  goddess  all, 
With  tread  majestic! 

Lo,  't  is  Venus*  self!     O  stay, 
My  heavenly  mother,  stay!     Why  dost  thou,  cruel  too. 
So  often  mock  thy  son  with  borrowed  semblances  ? 
Why  may  we  not  join  hands,  each  in  his  proper  self. 
And  speak  the  words  of  truth  ?    Ah  me!     She  's  vanished  quite. 
And  I  am  left  forlorn ! — 

Deeply  moved,  he  follows  her  vanishing  figure. 

Achates^  seeking  to  divert  iEneas,  leads  him  to  the  parapet  and  points  out 
to  him  the  life  awakening  in  the  city  below  (422-429). 

Behold  this  city  with  its  gates  and  mighty  walls, 
And  well-paved  streets,  where  even  now  the  Tyrians 
With  eager  zeal  press  on  their  various  toil.     See  there. 
Some  build  the  citadel  and  heave  up  massive  stones 
With  straining  hands;  while  some  a  humbler  task  essay, 
And  trace  the  furrow  round  their  future  homes.     Behold, 
Within  the  harbor  others  toil,  and  here  thou  seest 
The  deep  foundations  of  the  theater,  where  soon 
Shall  rise  huge  columns,  stately  set,  to  deck  the  scene. 

^ruas  (430-437): 

Yea  all,  like  busy  bees  throughout  the  flowery  mead, 
Are  all  astir  with  eager  toil.     O  blessed  toil ! 
O  happy  ye,  whose  walls  already  rise !     But  I, — 
When  shall  I  see  my  city  and  my  city's  walls  ? 
He  remains  in  deep  dejection. 


Act  I.     Scene  i 

Achates y  observing  the  pediment  of  the  temple  itself  (456-458) : 

But  here,  O  friend,  behold,  in  carved  imagery, 
Our  Trojan  battles  one  by  one,  that  mighty  strife 
Whose  fame  has  filled  the  world.     Here  see  Achilles  fierce, 
The  sons  of  Atreus, — and,  alas,  our  fallen  king! 

yEneaSy  deeply  affected  (459-463) : 

What  place.  Achates,  what  far  corner  of  the  world 
Is  not  o'erburdened  with  our  woes  ?     O  fallen  King, 
E'en  here  our  glorious  struggle  wins  its  meed  of  praise, 
And  those  our  mortal  hopes  defeated  and  o'erthrown. 
Are  mourned  by  human  tears. 

Therefore  our  present  cares 
Let  us  dismiss.     This  fame  shall  bring  us  safety  too. 

Achates,  continuing  to  examine  the  pediment  (467,  468) : 

See  how  the  Greeks  are  fleeing,  pressed  by  Trojan  youth! 
While  here,  alas,  our  warriors  flee  Achilles'  might. 

^neas  (469-478): 

And  here  behold  the  ill-starred  Rhesus'  white-winged  tents, 
Where  fierce  Tydides  slays  his  sleeping  foe;  and  drives 
Those  snowy  steeds  to  join  the  Grecian  camp,  before 
They  graze  in  Trojan  meadows  or  the  Xanthus  drink. 
Alas  poor  Troilus,  I  see  thee  too,  ill-matched 
With  great  Achilles.     Prone  thou  liest  within  thy  car. 
While  in  the  dust  thy  comely  locks  and  valiant  spear- 
Are  basely  trailed. 

Achates  (479-482): 

Here  to  Minerva's  temple  come 
Our  Trojan  dames  with  suppliant  mien  and  votive  gifts; 
With  locks  dishevelled,  self-inflicted  blows,  and  tears; 


15 


i6 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


Act  I.     Scene  i 


But  all  for  naught.     All  unappeased  the  goddess  stands 
With  stem  averted  face,  nor  will  she  heed  their  prayers. 

jEneas  (483-487): 

Thrice  round  the  walls  of  Troy  the  fell  Achilles  drags 

The  body  of  my  friend. — O  Hector,  Hector!     Here 

He  sells  thy  lifeless  body  for  accursed  gold, 

While  aged  Priam  stretches  forth  his  helpless  hands. 

Achates  (488-497): 

And  here  behold  thyself  amid  the  Grecian  chiefs 
In  combat  raging.     See  the  swarthy  Memnon's  arms, 
And  that  fierce  maid,  who,  clad  in  gleaming  armor,  dares 
To  lead  her  Amazons  and  mingle  in  the  fray. 

Music  is  heard  in  the  distance,  flutes  and  zithers  leading  a  chorus. 

But  hark!     The  distant  strains  of  music  greet  my  ear, 
As  of  some  stately  progress  fitly  timed  with  flute 
And  zither. 

See,  it  is  the  queen,  who  with  her  band 
Of  chosen  youths  and  maidens  hither  takes  her  way. 

y£neas  (498-501): 

How  like  Diana  when  she  leads  her  bands  by  swift 
Eurotas,  or  on  Cynthus  green,  while  round  her  press 
A  thousand  graceful  creatures  of  the  wood;  but  she, 
With  shoulder  quiver-girt,  a  very  goddess  moves 
With  stately  tread  among  the  lesser  beings  of 
Her  train.     To  such  an  one  I  liken  yonder  queen. 

They  conceal  themselves  in  the  foreground  behind  the  columns  of  the  temple. 
Dido,  accompanied  by  her  bands  of  courtiers,  crosses  the  stage  and  ascends  the 


17 


temple  steps.     She  seats  herself  on  the  throne  which  has  been  placed  for  her 
at  the  temple  door. 

Dido  throughout  this  act  is  dressed  in  white,  the  symbol  of  her  widowhood. 
Her  dress,  worn  without  himation,  is  of  light  filmy  stuff  draped  in  the  Greek 
style,  and  unornamented  save  for  a  border  of  gold  thread.  Anna  wears  a  dress 
of  delicate  blue,  elaborately  embroidered  about  the  edges  with  a  Greek  pattern 
in  gold  thread.  Her  himation,  wrapped  gracefully  about  her,  is  a  tender  shade 
of  rose  pink. 

In  Dido's  train  all  classes  are  represented,  gayly  dressed  courtiers,  soldiers, 
and  peasants.  The  men  wear  cloaks  of  dark  blue  and  of  rich  brown  over  their 
tunics.     The  women  are  clad  in  dresses  of  cream  color,  pink,  and  faint  green. 

^Alien  all  are  on  the  stage,  the  general  effect  should  be  a  mingling  of  pink, 
blue,  brown,  green,  and  white,  which  harmonize  with  the  tints  of  the  marble, 
of  the  flowering  crab  tree,  the  blue  sky,  and  the  purple  mountains. 

Suddenly  Ilioneus  and  his  following  of  Trojans  appear.  They  wear  the 
Phrygian  costume,  but  over  it  the  long  brown  traveling  cloak.  The  singing 
ceases,  the  guards  lower  their  spears,  and  great  excitement  reigns. 

j£neaSy  aside  (509,  510) : 

Achates,  can  it  be  ?    What!  Antheus,  and  our  brave 
Cloanthus  and  Sergestus  too  ? 

Ac  hates  y  aside  (51 1-5 14) : 

Yea,  all  our  friends 
Whose  ships  the  raging  storm  hath  parted  from  our  fleet 
And  driven  far  away.     O  joy!     Come,  let  us  go 
And  grasp  their  hands  in  greeting. 

^neaSy  aside  (515-521) : 

Nay,  not  so,  for  still 
Our  fortune  in  the  balance  hangs.     Here  let  us  see 
What  fate  befalls  our  friends,  where  they  have  left  their  fleet. 
And  why  they  hither  come.     For  chosen  messengers 
In  suppliant  aspect  do  they  seek  this  sacred  fane, 
While  round  them  rage  the  mob.— But  see,  Ilioneus  speaks. 

Dido  has  arisen  and  with  a  gesture  bids  the  soldiers  stand  aside.  She 
sends  a  page  to  lead  Ilioneus  to  her  throne.  Ilioneus  kneels  before  her  ;  she 
extends  the  scepter,  which  he  touches. 


i8  Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 

IKoneus^  rising  and  standing  before  the  queen  (522-558)  : 

O  Queen  to  whom  the  king  of  heav'n  hath  given  to  found 

A  city  and  to  curb  proud  nations  with  the  reins 

Of  law,  we  Trojans  in  our  need,  the  sport  of  winds 

On  every  sea,  implore  thee,  spare  a  pious  race 

And  look,  we  pray,  with  nearer  view  upon  our  cause. 

We  have  not  come  to  devastate  with  fire  and  sword 

The  Libyan  homes,  or  fill  our  ships  with  plundered  stores. 

Such  violence  and  such  high-handed  deeds  a  race 

By  fate  o'ercome  may  not  attempt.     There  is  a  place, 

Hesperia  the  Greeks  have  named  it,  ancient,  rich 

In  heroes,  and  of  fertile  soil.     CEnotrians 

Once  held  the  land ;  but  now,  as  rumor  goes,  their  sons 

In  honor  of  their  mighty  leader  have  the  place 

Italia  called.     To  this  our  seaward  course  was  bent: 

When  suddenly,  upstarting  from  the  deep,  all  charged 

With  tempests,  did  Orion  on  the  shallows  drive 

Our  vessels,  with  the  aid  of  boisterous  winds  and  waves, 

Through  boiling,  overtopping  floods  and  trackless  reefs, 

And  put  us  utterly  to  rout.     To  these  thy  shores 

A  few  of  us  have  drifted.     But  alas!  what  race 

Of  men  is  this  ?    What  land  permits  such  savage  deeds 

As  these  ?     We  are  refused  the  barren  refuge  of 

The  sandy  shore ;  they  seek  a  cause  for  mortal  strife. 

And  will  not  that  we  set  our  feet  upon  the  land. 

What  though  the  human  race  and  mortal  arms  are  naught 

To  thee;  be  sure  that  gods  regard  the  evil  and 

The  good.     We  had  a  king,  ^neas,  more  than  peer 

Of  all  in  justice,  piety,  and  warrior's  might. 

If  by  decree  of  fate  he  still  survives,  if  still 

He  draws  the  vital  air  of  heav'n,  and  lies  not  low 

Amid  the  gloomy  shades,  fear  not,  and  let  it  not 


19 


; 


Act  I.     Scene    i 

Repent  thee  that  in  deeds  of  mercy  thou  didst  strive 

To  be  the  first.     We  still  possess  both  towns  and  lands 

Upon  Sicilia's  isle;  Acestes  too,  renowned. 

And  bom  of  Trojan  blood,  is  ours.     Our  only  prayer. 

That  we  may  draw  our  shattered  fleet  upon  the  shore, 

And  in  the  forest  shade  renew  our  weakened  beams 

And  broken  oars.     That  thus,  if  to  Italia's  realms. 

Our  comrades  and  our  king  regained,  't  is  ours  again 

To  hold  our  way,  with  joy  we  may  that  selfsame  land 

And  Latium's  borders  seek.     But  if  in  vain  our  hope, 

And  if,  loved  father  of  the  Teucri,  thou  art  held 

By  Libya's  billows  and  no  more  we  may  upon 

lulus  rest  our  hopes,  then  let  us  seek  the  land 

And  homes  reserved  for  us,  whence,  setting  sail,  we  came 

To  these  thy  hostile  shores,  and  make  Acestes  king. 

Shouts  of  applause  from  the  Trojans. 


Dido^  with  modest  bearing  (562-578) : 

Let  not  a  fear  disturb  your  souls,  O  Teucrians ; 

Away  with  all  your  cares.     My  cruel  fortune  and 

My  yet  unstable  throne  compel  me  thus  to  guard 

My  bounds  with  wide  and  jealous  watch.     Who  knows  not  well 

-^neas  and  his  race,  their  city  Troy,  their  brave. 

Heroic  deeds  ?     Who  has  not  seen  the  far-off  flames 

Of  their  great  war  ?     We  carry  not  such  brutish  hearts 

Within  our  breasts,  nor  yet  does  Phoebus  yoke  his  steeds 

So  far  from  this  our  land.     Seek  you  the  mighty  west, 

The  land  of  Saturn's  reign,  or  where  your  foster-king, 

Acestes,  rules  within  Sicilia's  borders  ?     Lo, 

In  safety  will  I  send  you  forth  and  gird  you  with 

My  aid.     Or  would  you  share  with  me  this  realm  ?     Behold, 

The  city  which  I  build  is  yours.     Draw  up  your  ships. 


/ 


20 


Dido — The  Phoenician  <  Queen 


To  Trojan  and  to  Tyrian  will  I  favor  show 

In  equal  measure.     Would  that  your  Eneas'  self, 

Conducted  by  the  same  o'er-mastering  gale,  were  here! 

My  messengers  along  the  shore  will  I  despatch, 

And  bid  them  search  the  farthest  bounds  of  Libya, 

If  he  in  wood  or  city,  rescued  from  the  waves, 

May  chance  to  stray. 

She  despatches  courtiers  to  seek  ^Eneas.     /Ene&s  and  Achates,  meantime, 
are  greatly  agitated  by  her  words. 

Achates^  to  ^Eneas,  aside  (582-585) : 

iEneas,  what  thy  purpose  now  ? 
Thou  seest  all  is  well.     Thy  fleet  and  captains  all. 
Save  one,  are  rescued.     One  we  saw  ourselves  o'erwhelmed 
Within  the  deep.     All  else  thy  mother's  prophecy 
Upholds. 

At  this,  ^Eneas  suddenly  reveals  himself,  to  the  great  surprise  of  both  Tro- 
jans and  Carthaginians. 

j£neaSy  to  Dido  (595-609) : 

O  Queen,  before  thee,  whom  thou  wouldst  behold,  am  I, 

-^neas.  Prince  of  Troy,  late  rescued  from  the  waves 

Of  Libya.     O  thou,  who  only  o'er  the  woes. 

The  dreadful  woes  of  Troy  hast  wept,  who  to  thy  town 

And  home  dost  welcome  us,  the  leavings  of  the  Greeks, 

Who  every  peril  of  the  land  and  sea  have  faced. 

And  lost  our  all :  we  may  not  thank  thee  worthily, 

O  Queen,  nor  yet  the  Trojan  race,  what  remnant  still 

In  distant  lands  in  exile  wanders.     May  the  gods 

A  fitting  gift  bestow  upon  thee;  if  indeed 

They  feel  a  true  regard  for  pious  souls,  if  e'er 

The  truth  and  conscious  virtue  aught  avail.     But  thee — 

What  blessed  age,  what  mighty  parents  gave  thee  birth  ? 


(I 


s 

5 


:! 


CL 


Act  I.     Scene  i  21 

Whate'er  my  fate,  while  to  the  sea  the  rivers  flow, 
While  o'er  the  mountains'  rounded  sides  the  shadows  drift, 
While  on  the  plains  of  heav'n  the  stars  shall  feed,  so  long 
Thine  honor  and  thy  name  and  praises  shall  abide. 


The  queen  is  silent  with  amazement,  while  ^neas  greets  his  friends  amid 
general  rejoicing. 


Dtdo^  recovering  from  her  astonishment  (615-630) : 

What  fate,  thou  son  of  heav'n,  decrees  these  perils  vast  ? 

And  what  the  power  that  drives  thee  on  our  savage  shores  ? 

And  art  thou  that  ^neas  whom  to  Ilium's  prince, 

Anchises,  on  the  bank  of  Phrygian  Simois, 

The  kindly  Venus  bore  ?     And  now  do  I  recall 

That  Teucer  once  to  Sidon  came  as  suppliant; 

For  exiled  from  his  native  Salamis  he  came. 

'T  was  at  the  time  when  fertile  Cyprus  bowed  beneath 

My  father's  might,  and  by  the  victor's  sway  was  held. 

From  that  time  on,  thy  name,  and  all  the  Grecian  kings. 

And  the  fortunes  of  thy  city  have  been  known  to  me. 

Nay,  Teucer' s  self,  though  foeman,  sang  the  praise  of  Troy, 

And  said  that  he  himself  from  ancient  Trojan  stock 

Had  sprung. 

Wherefore,  O  princes,  come  and  make  my  halls 
Your  own.     An  equal  fate  has  willed  that  I,  like  you, 
The  sport  of  many  toils,  should  find  a  resting  place 
Within  this  land.     With  grief  acquainted,  I  have  learned 
To  comfort  hapless  wanderers  oppressed  with  grief. 


They  prepare  to  leave  the  scene.  Dido  despatches  men  to  bear  gifts  to  the 
Trojan  fleet,  and  proclaims  a  banquet  for  the  ensuing  night  in  honor  of 
iSneas  and  the  Trojan  princes. 


22 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


/Eneas ^  to  Achates  (643-655) : 

Go,  speed  thee,  friend,  to  where,  upon  the  sandy  beach. 
Our  comrades  camp  about  the  ships.     This  joyful  news 
To  young  Ascanius  bear,  and  bid  him  come  with  thee 
To  Dido's  town. 

Exit  Achates. 
To  other  Trojans  ; 

Go  ye,  and  fetch  from  out  the  ships 
The  treasures  that  we  saved  from  Ilium's  fall:  the  robe. 
Stiff  wrought  with  golden  pattern,  and  the  flowing  veil 
All  interwov'n  with  bright  acanthus'  yellow  bloom. 
Those  beauteous  robes  of  price  which  Argive  Helen  brought 
From  rich  Mycenae  when  to  Pergama  she  came, 

2r  mother's  wondrous  gift.     And  bring  the  scepter  fair 
\/hich  once  Ilione,  the  eldest  daughter  of 
Our  monarch,  bore;  the  pearl-set  necklace,  and  the  crown, 
Its  double  golden  circlet  spangled  o'er  with  gems. 


The  Trojans  withdraw  to  do  his  bidding.  The  music  sounds,  and  as  the 
entire  court  moves  from  the  scene,  Dido  sends  some  of  her  maidens  back  to 
throw  incense  upon  the  flames.  They  kneel  upon  the  steps  and  Anna  advances 
to  the  altar.  As  the  smoke  ascends,  Dido  and  ^^neas  turn  to  follow  the  rest. 
Curtain. 


Act  I,    Scene  2 


A  place  in  the  deep,  green  forest.  Ferns  and  flowers  strew  the  ground  and 
the  sunlight  falls  through  the  branches  in  flecks  of  gold.  In  the  foreground  are 
two  great  moss-grown  rocks,  on  one  of  which  sits  Cupid,  draped  with  gar- 
lands of  wild  flowers,  shooting  his  arrows  at  a  heart-shaped  target  hung  from 
the  branches  of  a  tree  in  the  center  of  the  stage.  At  one  side  sits  Venus, 
absorbed  in  deep,  troubled  meditation.  She  has  resumed  the  flowing  drap- 
eries befitting  a  goddess.  Pink  or  canary  yellow  will  harmonize  with  the 
scene. 


Act  I.     Scene  2  23 

Venus  (657-662): 

Ah  me!     I  fear  this  Tyrian  hospitality; 

For  well  I  know  their  faithless  hearts  and  lying  tongues, 

And  ever,  mid  the  anxious  watches  of  the  night. 

The  savage  threats  of  Juno  agitate  my  soul. 

If  only  this  fair  queen  might  feel  the  pulse  of  love 

For  this  my  hero  son,  then  would  her  purposes 

Of  amity  be  fixed,  and  my  anxiety 

Be  set  at  rest. —  But  how  accomplish  my  design  ? 

Suddenly  her  face  is  lighted  with  a  new  thought.     She  goes  to  Cupid  and 
addresses  him  with  insinuating  gentleness. 

Venus,  to  Cupid  (664-688) : 

O  son,  my  comrade  and  my  only  source  of  might, 
O  thou,  who  scorn'st  the  giant-slaying  darts  of  Jove, 
To  thee  I  come  and  humbly  pray  thy  fav'ring  aid. 
How  on  the  sea,  from  land  to  land,  thy  brother  fares. 
Pursued  by  Juno's  unrelenting  hate,  is  known 
To  thee,  and  often  hast  thou  mingled  in  my  grief. 
Now  Tyrian  Dido  holds  him,  and  with  fawning  words 
Delays  his  course ;  and  much  do  I  distrust  and  fear 
The  shelter  which  our  envious  rival  Juno  gives. 
For,  in  this  pregnant  crisis  of  affairs,  be  sure 
She  will  be  active.     Wherefore  now  my  mind  is  bent 
With  wiles  to  take  the  queen,  ere  Juno  steel  her  heart. 
And  hold  her  fast  in  passion's  net ;   that  at  the  best 
Of  Juno  she  her  present  purpose  may  not  change, 
But  by  a  mighty  love  for  this  her  Trojan  guest 
She  may  be  bound  to  work  my  will 

Now  hear  thy  part : 
Obedient  to  the  summons  of  his  doting  sire. 
The  youthful  prince  Ascanius  goes  to  Dido's  town 


24 


Dido — The  Phcenician  Queen 


With  gifts  which  Ocean  and  the  flames  of  Troy  have  spared  ; 

Him,  lapped  in  sleep,  will  I  to  far  Cythera  bear, 

Or  hide  him  in  my  sacred  fane  on  Ida's  top, 

Lest  he  should  know  what  we  intend,  and  thwart  our  plans. 

Do  thou,  if  only  for  a  night,  assume  the  form 

Of  young  Ascanius,  that,  when  the  queen  with  joy 

To  her  embrace  shall  take  thee,  when  amid  the  wine 

And  feasting  she  shall  hold  thee  in  her  arms  and  kiss 

Thy  lips,  thou  mayst  inflame  her  unsuspecting  heart 

With  the  subtle  fires  of  love. 

As  she  unfolds  her  plan,  Cupid  is  filled  with  delight.  He  struts  up  and 
down,  comically  imitating  Ascanius.  When  his  mother  has  finished,  he  hastens 
to  pick  up  his  scattered  arrows,  puts  them  in  his  quiver,  and  struts  ofiF,  looking 
back  for  his  mother's  smile  of  approval.     Curtain. 


, 


Act  I.     Scene  3 


A  banquet  hall  in  Dido's  palace.  Across  the  back  of  the  stage  is  a  colonnade 
(2),  raised  above  the  level  of  the  hall.  Through  the  columns  there  is  a  view  (i) 
out  over  the  moonlit  sea.  Two  broad  steps  lead  from  the  colonnade  to  a  land- 
ing, from  which  again  three  steps  at  each  side  descend  to  the  level  of  the  hall 
(3).  At  the  second  wing  (4)  on  each  side,  curtained  doorways  open  into  the 
side  rooms,  from  which  the  servants  hurry  with  viands  for  the  table.  At  the  first 
wing  (5),  half  columns  form  the  corner  of  the  wall.  In  the  center  a  sort  of  tri- 
clinium (6)  is  set  for  the  feast,  a  broad,  three-sided  table  flanked  by  couches 
upholstered  in  Tyrian  purple  and  having  pillows  of  blue  and  gold. 

When  the  curtain  rises,  the  moonlight  is  streaming  down  through  the  columns 
upon  the  scene.  A  tripod  burns  before  the  triclinium.  Otherwise  there  is  no 
light;  except  as  it  flashes  from  the  side  rooms  when  the  curtains  are  parted 
for  an  instant.  Servants  are  strewing  the  banquet  table  with  flowers  and 
briniging  in  dishes  of  gold. 

The  antique  bronze  lamps,  hung  between  the  columns,  are  lighted  one  by 
one,  till  the  scene  is  brilliant  with  light  and  color. 

Music  is  heard  within.  The  servants  hastily  finish  their  work.  The  royal 
party  enters  along  the  colonnade.  Dido  is  still  clad  in  white,  but  Anna  and  the 
other  ladies  of  the  court  have  assumed  himations  of  royal  purple,  royal  blue, 
brilliant  yellow,  and  deep  green,  ^neas  has  laid  aside  his  helmet  and  greaves, 
but  still  wears  his  breastplate  of  mail,  although  he  carries  on  his  shoulder  a 
cloak  of  royal  purple. 

25 


26 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


The  Carthaginians  are  more  elaborately  and  richly  dressed  than  in  the  first 
scene.  The  Trojans  have  put  aside  their  outer  cloaks,  and  wear  tunics  gayly 
embroidered  in  colors.     The  servants  wear  tunics  of  white. 

The  guests  recline  upon  the  couches,  ^neas  is  in  the  seat  of  honor,  while 
Dido  has  placed  the  supposed  Ascanius  upon  the  couch  at  her  side.  Many  of 
the  Carthaginians  and  the  Trojans  fill  the  hall. 

Dido  rises.     There  is  silence  through  the  room.     She  intones  the  invocation. 


Z>/V<?  (731-735): 


[For  music,  see  p.  69] 


O  Jove,  thou  lord  of  gods  and  men,  since  *t  is  from  thee 
The  rites  of  hospitality  proceed,  ordain 
That  this  may  be  a  day  of  joy  to  us  of  Tyre 
And  these  the  Trojan  exiles;  let  its  fame  go  down 
To  our  descendants.     May  the  god  of  wine  and  joy, 
And  fost'ring  Juno  grace  and  celebrate  the  day. 


The  entire  company  repeats  the  invocation  in  unison.  When  they  have 
finished,  all  bow  and  Dido  pours  forth  the  libation  upon  the  table.  Touching 
the  cup  to  her  lips,  she  passes  it  to  the  guests  of  honor. 

"While  the  cup  is  passing  about,  lopas  and  his  chorus  sing. 


Song  of  lopas  (suggested  by  740-746) 

[For  music,  see  p.  73J 


Of  the  orb  of  the  wandering  moon  I  sing, 
As  she  wheels  through  the  darkening  skies; 
Where  the  storm-brooding  band  of  the  Hyades  swing, 
And  the  circling  Triones  arise; 

Of  the  sun's  struggling  ball 

Which  the  shadows  appall 
Till  the  menacing  darkness  flies; 


yCNEAS 


Act  I.     Scene  3  27 


Of  the  all-potent  forces  that  dwell  in  the  air, 
With  its  measureless  reaches  of  blue ; 
The  soft  floating  clouds  of  gossamer  there, 
And  the  loud-wailing  storm-rack  too ; 
Of  the  rain  and  the  winds 
And  the  lightning  that  blinds 
When  its  swift-darting  bolt  flashes  through; 


Of  the  marvels  deep  hid  in  the  bowels  of  earth, 

In  the  dark  caves  of  Ocean  confined, 

Where  the  rivers  in  slow-trickling  rills  have  their  birth, 

And  the  dense  tangled  mazes  unwind; 

In  the  deep  underland. 

In  the  dim  wonderland, 
Where  broods  the  vast  cosmical  mind. 


Of  the  manifold  wonders  of  life  I  sing, 
Its  mysteries  striving  to  scan. 
In  the  rippling  wave,  on  the  fluttering  wing, 
In  beast  and  all-dominant  man. 

'T  is  the  indwelling  soul 

Of  the  god  of  the  whole. 
Since  the  dawn  of  creation  began. 

DidOy  who  has  been  gazing  upon  ^Eneas  in  rapt  admiration  (753-756) 
Now  come,  my  guest,  and  from  the  first  recount  the  tale 
Of  Grecian  treachery,  thy  friends'  sad  overthrow 
And  all  thy  toils;  for  lo,  the  seventh  summer  finds 
Thee  wand' ring  still  in  every  land,  on  every  sea. 


28 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


If  i 

i 


^neaSy  rising  (II.  3-13): 

Thou  wouldst  that  I  should  feel  a  woe  unspeakable, 

O  Queen,  and  tell  again  how  all  our  Trojan  power 

And  kingdom,  endless  source  of  grief,  the  Greeks  overthrew: 

Those  sad  events  which  I  myself  beheld,  and  in 

Whose  fabric  I  was  wrought  a  part.     Who,  though  he  be 

Of  fierce  Achilles*  band,  or  in  the  train  of  hard 

Ulysses,  telling  such  a  tale  could  hold  his  tears  ? 

Now  night  sinks  down  the  steeps  of  heaven,  while  setting  stars 

And  constellations  summon  us  to  rest.     But  if 

So  strong  is  thy  desire  to  know  the  story  of 

Our  woe,  and  hear  Troy's  final  agonies  rehearsed, 

Though  at  the  very  thought  my  soul  within  me  shrinks 

And  has  recoiled  in  grief,  I  will  begin  the  tale. 

All  the  Trojans  and  Carthaginians  crowd  around  the  tables,  seating  them- 
selves to  listen.  As  all  faces  are  turned  toward  ^neas,  he  sinks  back  upon  his 
couch,   overcome  with  emotion.     There  is  a  moment  of  silent   sympathy 


ACT  II 


I 


29 


i 


Act  II.    Scene  i 


Dido's  chamber.  At  the  left,  in  front,  is  a  shrine  (i).  An  antique  bust  with 
an  inscription  above  it,  visible  in  the  light  from  the  glowing  censer,  indicates 
that  it  is  sacred  to  Sychaeus.  Two  broad  steps  raise  it  slightly  from  the  level 
of  the  stage.  On  the  same  side  in  the  middle  a  door  (2),  flanked  by  half 
columns.  At  the  right,  first  wing,  a  door  (3) ;  half-way  back  on  the  same  side 
(4),  a  curtained  recess  in  which  are  hung  Dido's  brilliant  robes.  In  the  center 
of  the  background  (5),  is  a  window  overlooking  the  city  and  harbor,  which 
show  in  the  distance  when  the  window  is  opened.  It  is  reached  by  two  steps 
covered  with  rugs,  and  the  seats  about  the  three  sides  of  the  recess  are  richly 
upholstered  in  green  and  gray. 

Anna  and  Dido  both  wear  simple  white,  while  Barce,  the  aged  nurse,  is  clad 
plainly  in  brown. 

Barce  lies  asleep  on  a  couch  near  the  shrine,  her  face  lighted  by  the  glowing 
flame.     Anna  is  asleep  on  a  couch  in  the  foreground. 

Dido  sits  at  the  window  in  the  moonlight,  looking  out  into  the  night.  She 
gets  up  and  moves  restlessly  about  the  room.  She  kneels  before  the  altar, 
replenishing  the  incense.  She  comes  finally  to  her  sister,  and,  wakening  her, 
tells  of  her  struggle  against  the  new  love. 

31 


32 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


Dido  (IV.  9-29): 

O  sister,  what  dread  visions  of  the  night  invade 

My  troubled  soul!     What  of  this  stranger  lodged  within 

Our  halls,  how  noble  in  his  mien,  how  brave  in  heart. 

Of  what  puissant  arms!     From  heav'n  in  truth  his  race 

Must  be  derived,  for  fear  betokens  low-born  souls. 

Alas,  how  tempest- tossed  of  fate  was  he !     How  to 

The  dregs  the  bitter  cup  of  war's  reverses  hath 

He  drained!     If  in  my  soul  the  purpose  were  not  fixed 

That  not  to  any  suitor  would  I  yield  myself 

In  wedlock,  since  the  time  when  he  who  won  my  love 

Was  reft  away,  perchance  I  might  have  yielded  now. 

For  sister,  I  confess  it,  since  my  husband's  fate. 

Since  that  sad  day  when  by  his  blood  my  father's  house 

Was  sprinkled,  this  of  all  men  has  my  feelings  moved. 

Again  I  feel  the  force  of  passion's  sway.     But  no! 

May  I  be  gulfed  within  earth's  yawning  depths;  may  Jove 

Almighty  hurl  me  with  his  thunders  to  the  shades. 

The  pallid  shades  of  Erebus  and  night  profound. 

Before,  O  constancy,  I  violate  thy  laws! 

He  took  my  heart  who  first  engaged  my  maiden  love. 

Still  may  he  keep  his  own,  and  in  the  silent  tomb 

Preserve  my  love  inviolate. — 


Anna  (31-53): 

O  dearer  to  thy  sister  than  the  light  of  life. 

Wilt  thou  consume  thy  youth  in  loneliness  and  grief, 

And  never  know  the  sacred  joys  of  motherhood. 

The  sweets  of  love  ?    And  dost  thou  think,  that  in  the  tomb 

Thy  husband's  sleeping  spirit  recks  of  this  ?     Let  be. 

That  never  yet  have  other  suitors  moved  thy  heart 

Which  long  has  scorned  the  lords  of  Libya  and  of  Tyre; 


I 


ANNA 


■    L.    -«■  ■1.WJ.I4 


1 


5 


Act  II.     Scene  i  33 

Let  prince  larbas  be  rejected  and  the  lords 

Of  Africa's  heroic  land:  wilt  still  against 

A  pleasing  love  contend  ?     And  hast  considered  then 

Whose  are  the  powers  upon  the  borders  of  thy  realm  ? 

Here  are  Gaetulia's  cities,  matchless  race  in  war; 

Here  wild  Numidians  hedge  thee  round,  and  Ocean's  shoals; 

While  yonder  lies  the  sandy  desert  parched  and  wild, 

Where  fierce  Barcaeans  range.     Why  need  I  mention  Tyre's 

Dark -looming  cloud  of  war,  thy  brother's  threats  ?     For  me, 

I  think  that  through  the  favor  of  the  gods  and  care 

Of  Juno  hath  ^Eneas  drifted  to  our  shores. 

And  to  what  glory  shalt  thou  see  thy  city  rise. 

What  strong  far-reaching  sway  upreared  on  such  a  tie! 

Assisted  by  the  Trojan  arms,  our  youthful  state 

Up  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  fame  shall  soar. 

Then  pray  the  favor  of  the  gods,  and  give  its  due 

To  sacred  hospitality.     Lo,  to  thy  hand 

Is  cause  of  dalliance,  while  still  the  blustering  winds 

Of  winter  sweep  the  sea,  Orion's  storms  prevail, 

Their  fleet  is  shattered,  and  the  frowning  heavens  lower. 

Dido,  during  this  speech,  has  gone  to  her  husband's  shrine.  There  is  a 
mighty  struggle  in  her  soul  between  love  and  duty. 

Bai-ce,  wakened  from  her  sleep  and  seeing  her  mistress  pale  and  anguish- 
stricken,  throws  herself  before  her.  Dido  finally  yields  and  reaches  her  tremb- 
ling hand  to  quench  the  censer.  The  old  nurse  clings  to  her  in  terrified  appeal. 
Dido  frees  herself  from  her.  She  quenches  the  flame  and  draws  the  curtain 
before  the  shrine.     Old  Barce  sits  sobbing  before  the  darkened  altar. 

Meanwhile  the  light  has  been  changing  into  dawn  and  the  sea  and  harbor 
begin  to  be  visible  through  the  open  window.  Dido  crosses  the  chamber,  and 
after  a  moment's  struggle  draws  back  the  curtains  from  before  the  recess  where 
hang  the  brilliant  garments  laid  aside  during  her  widowhood.  She  takes  down 
a  purple  mantle,  and  standing  before  a  mirror,  girds  it  about  her  with  a  golden 

girdle.  u    j* 

The  sound  of  a  trumpet  and  the  shouts  of  the  sailors  are  heard  m  the  dis- 
tance. Anna  goes  to  the  window,  and  seeing  JEnesiS  and  his  men  below  on  the 
shore,  draws  Dido  to  the  window.  Dido  gazes  for  a  minute  and  then,  filled 
with  her  new  passion,  goes  forth  with  her  sister  to  meet  iEneas.    Curtain. 


' 


!«1 


34 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


Act  II.     Scene  2 


A  fragrant  nook  on  Mount  Ida.  Across  the  stage  at  the  first  wing  a  low, 
broad  marble  wall  (i),  forming  one  end  of  a  colonnade  which  leads  back  to  an 
arch  (2),  through  which  the  distant  sea  is  visible  (3).  The  columns  at  the  first 
wing  (4)  and  the  wall  between  them  are  overclambered  by  a  flowering  vine, 
which  has  strewn  its  delicate  yellow  petals  over  the  wall  and  the  marble  floor- 
before  It.  Behind  the  wall  (5)  a  garden  of  brilliant  blossoms,  with  a  path 
leading  through  it  to  the  arch  in  the  background.  There  is  the  pleasant  sound 
of  falling  water. 

Venus,  seated  upon  the  low  marble  wall,  is  discovered  keeping  watch  over 
Ascanius,  who  lies  asleep  before  her,  his  pink  body  hidden  in  a  drift  of  yellow 
petals.  The  deep  blue  himation,  which  has  fallen  in  graceful  folds  across  the 
wall  behind  her,  forms  a  rich  contrast  in  color  to  the  delicate  tints  of  the 
marble,  of  the  flowers,  and  of  her  own  dress  of  tender  pink.  Juno,  in  a  bril- 
liant purple  dress,  approaching  through  the  garden,  comes  upon  her  in  a  fury 
of  wrath.  ' 


yuno  (93-104): 

Fair  fame,  in  sooth,  and  booty  rich  thou  shalt  obtain, 
Thou  and  thy  boy,  a  lasting  name,  if  by  the  guile 


Act  II.     Scene  2 


35 


\ 


\ 


Of  two  divinities  one  woman  is  overcome! 

Nor  have  I  failed  of  late  to  see  the  jealous  fear 

In  which  thou  boldest  these  our  Carthaginian  walls. 

But  come,  in  such  a  strife  what  motive  can  we  have  ? 

Nay,  rather  shall  we  not  a  lasting  peace  secure 

By  Hymen's  bonds  ?     Behold,  thou  hast  what  thou  hast  sought 

W^ith  all  thy  soul:  fair  Dido  burns  with  ardent  love, 

And  feels  its  thrill  of  passion  dominate  her  heart. 

Then  let  us  rule  this  people,  thou  and  I,  on  terms 

Of  amity.     Let  Dido  wed  the  Trojan  prince, 

And  give  to  thee,  as  royal  dowry,  Tyria's  lords. 

Venus  {107-114): 

How  mad  th'  opponent  who  would  such  fair  terms  refuse  ! 
Or  who  would  wish  to  strive  by  preference  with  thee  ! 
If  only  fortune  favor  what  thou  hast  proposed: 
But  of  the  fates  am  I  uncertain,  whether  Jove 
Be  willing  that  the  Trojan  exiles  and  the  men 
Of  Carthage  reign  in  common  and  a  lasting  bond 
Of  amity  cement.     Thou  art  his  wife.     'T  is  right 
For  thee  by  prayer  to  try  his  will.     Do  thou  lead  on, 
I  follow. 

Juno  ( 1 15-126): 

Mine  the  task  thou  sayest.     Now  the  way 
In  which  the  matter  may  be  perfected  in  brief 
Will  I  reveal.     Do  thou  attend  my  words. — The  queen. 
Unhappy  Dido,  and  -^neas,  to  the  wood 
Prepare  to  lead  the  hunt,  when  first  to-morrow's  sun 
Hath  reared  his  radiant  head  and  with  his  shining  beams 
Revealed  the  world.     On  these,  while  beaters  force  the  game. 
And  hem  the  glades  with  circling  nets,  will  I  a  storm 
Of  rain  and  mingled  hail  pour  down  and  rack  the  sky 


36 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


From  pole  to  pole.     In  all  directions  will  they  flee 

Before  the  storm,  and  shield  themselves  in  sheltering  caves. 

The  queen  and  Trojan  leader  will  together  seek 

The  selfsame  grot.     And,  if  thy  favoring  purpose  hold, 

I  shall  in  lasting  union  join  and  make  them  one. 

Venus  assents,  and,  bending  over  the  sleeping  boy,  shows  by  a  satiric  smile 
that  she  perceives  the  purpose  of  her  rival.     Curtain. 

Act  II.     Scene  3 

A  forest  scene.  Huge  trees  and  moss-grown  rocks.  Across  the  back,  a  cliff 
in  the  face  of  which  at  the  last  wing  on  the  left  is  the  opening  to  a  mighty 
cavern.  Through  the  trees  growing  along  the  summit  of  this  cliff,  comes  the 
shimmer  of  the  distant  sea. 

Far  and  near  through  all  the  forest,  trumpets  are  sounding.  Attendants 
armed  with  spears  and  nets,  and  with  hounds  in  leash  for  the  chase,  hurry 
across  the  scene.  Dido,  Anna,  JEne&s,  Ascanius,  followed  by  the  entire  court 
in  brilliant  array,  cross  the  scene  amid  the  flourish  of  trumpets. 

All  the  costumes  are  very  brilliant  with  gold,  purple,  deep  blue,  and  wood 
green.  Dido  is  dressed  in  purple  and  gold,  Anna  in  brown  and  green  with  a 
leopard  skin  instead  of  a  himation.  i^neas  is  in  full  armor.  All  the  Trojans 
and  Carthaginians  are  dressed  and  armed  for  the  chase. 

One  of  the  attendants  has  seated  himself  in  the  foreground  to  mend  his 
broken  bow.  As  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  grows  fainter,  a  band  of  Cartha- 
ginian youth,  hurrying  to  join  the  hunt,  descry  him  and  stop  to  laugh  at  him, 
because  he  is  left  behind.  He  throws  down  his  bow  in  disgust,  and  points  in 
the  direction  of  the  hunt  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

Attendant  (191-194): 

Now  look  you,  to  our  shores  has  come  this  Trojan  prince 
Whom  Dido,  our  fair  queen,  has  taken  as  her  lord. 
And  now  in  dalliance  fond  the  winter's  days  they  spend, 
Unmindful  of  their  heaven-appointed  destinies, 
And  taken  in  the  subtle  snare  of  base  desire. 

Approval  on  the  part  of  all  the  youth. 

Meanwhile  it  has  grown  darker,  and  there  comes  a  crash  of  thunder.  All  flee 
in  terror.  As  the  storm  increases,  the  courtiers  flee  across  the  scene  in  every 
direction.     The  trumpets  are  heard  calling  through  all  the  woods. 

At  last,  amid  the  crash  of  thunder  and  the  roar  of  the  tempest.  Dido  and 
iEneas  enter,  seeking  a  place  of  shelter.  Discovering  the  cavern,  they  flee  to 
that.  Lightning  flashes,  the  thunder  roars,  the  wild  cries  of  the  nymphs  are  heard. 

The  scene  closes  in  almost  utter  darkness.     Curtain. 


ACT  III 


37 


\k 


Act  III.     Scene  i 


The  temple  of  Jupiter  Ammon  in  Libya.  In  the  center  of  the  stage  an  altar 
(i),  raised  high  from  the  level  of  the  stage  by  four  broad  steps  (2).  Pillars  of 
barbaric  form  and  decoration  at  the  first  and  second  wings  (3),  between  which 
are  hung  curtains  (4)  of  rich,  oriental  pattern.  At  the  second  wing  a  wall  (5) 
joins  the  two  pillars.  In  the  distance  (6),  across  a  wide  tract  of  desert,  Car- 
thag;e  can  be  seen,  showing  only  as  a  cluster  of  glimmering  lights  except  when 
the  lightning  flashes  fitfully  along  the  horizon.  The  scene  is  lighted  only  by 
the  glare  of  the  altar  fire. 

larbas  wears  a  robe  of  scarlet  worked  in  gold. 

larbaSy  kneeling  before  the  altar,  his  face  lifted  defiantly  upward  (206-218) : 

O  Jove  omnipotent,  to  whom  the  Moorish  race 
From  *broidered  couches  pour  their  offering  of  wine, 
Dost  thou  regard  th'  affairs  of  men  ?  or  is  't  in  vain 

39 


40 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


We  tremble,  father,  when  thou  hurl'st  thy  thunderbolts  ? 
And  is  it  only  aimless  flashings  that  we  fear. 
And  meaningless  vain  mutterings  that  fill  the  sky  ? 
That  vagrant  queen  to  whom  we  gave  within  our  bounds 
A  site  whereon  to  build  her  town,  a  bit  of  shore 
To  till,  and  granted  full  possession  of  the  place. 
Hath  this  our  suit  disdained  and  to  her  realm  received 
-^neas  as  her  lord.     And  now  that  puny  prince, 
That  Paris,  with  his  train  of  weaklings,  and  his  locks 
Perfumed,  bedecked  and  sheltered  by  a  Phrygian  cap, 
Hath  carried  off  the  prize. — And  we,  poor  fools,  bring  gifts 
Unto  thy  temple  and  adore  an  empty  shrine! 

Sullen  mutterings  of  distant  thunder.     Curtain. 

Scenes  2  and  3 

The  temple  colonnade,  as  in  Act  I.  Scene  i.  iEneas,  surrounded  by 
Achates,  Ilioneus,  and  many  other  Trojans,  is  directing  the  work  in  the  city 
below  them.  He  has  in  his  hands  the  plan  of  the  citadel,  which  he  is  tracing 
for  his  countr)mtien.  Mercury  appears  upon  the  temple  steps,  crosses  the  stage, 
and  stands  a  moment  behind  ^Eneas  and  his  companions,  unnoticed. 

Mercury y  to  iEneas,  as  the  Trojans  turn  and  discover  him  (265-276)  : 

And  can  it  be  that  thou  art  building  here  the  walls 
Of  Tyrian  Carthage,  and  uprearing  her  fair  towers. 
Thou  dotard,  of  thy  realm  and  thy  great  destiny 
Forgetful !     Jove  himself,  the  ruler  of  the  gods. 
Who  holds  the  heavens  and  earth  and  moves  them  at  his  will, 
To  thee  from  bright  Olympus  straight  hath  sent  me  here. 
He  bade  me  bear  on  speeding  pinions  these  commands: 
What  dost  thou  here  ?  or  with  what  hopes  dost  thou  delay 
Upon  the  Libyan  shores  ?    If  thou,  indeed,  art  moved 
By  no  regard  for  thine  own  glorious  destiny, 


DIDO 


i 


Act  III.     Scenes  2  and  3  41 

Respect  at  least  the  budding  hopes  of  him,  thy  son, 
Who  after  thee  shall  hold  the  scepter;  for  to  him 
Are  due  the  realms  of  Italy,  the  land  of  Rome. 

While  Mercury  is  giving  his  message,  Dido,  followed  by  her  maidens,  comes 
forth  from  the  temple,  and  as  she  catches  the  import  of  his  words,  stands 
horror-stricken  upon  the  temple  steps,  unnoticed  by  JEneas  or  his  men,  whose 
faces  are  turned  intently  toward  Mercury. 

^ErteaSf  overwhelmed  with  astonishment,  aside  (281-294)  : 

O  Jove,  and  I  had  near  forgot  my  destiny, 

To  oblivion  lulled  amid  the  sweets  of  this  fair  land ! 

But  now  my  heart's  sole  longing  is  for  Italy, 

V^hich  waits  me  by  the  promise  of  the  fates.     But  how 

From  this  benumbing  passion  shall  I  free  myself  ? 

How  face  the  queen  and  put  away  her  clinging  love  ? 

To  his  attendants : 

Go  ye,  and  swiftly  call  the  Trojans  to  the  shore; 

Bid  them  equip  the  vessels  quickly  for  the  sea. 

And  frame  for  this  our  sudden  voyage  some  fitting  cause. 

Mnestheus  and  the  others  withdraw  to  perform  his  commands.  yEneas 
remains  buried  in  deep  thought.  He  turns  and  sees  Dido  standing  before 
him.     They  gaze  at  each  other  in  silence. 

Z>/V^  (305-330): 

And  didst  thou  hope  that  thou  couldst  hide  thy  fell  design, 

O  faithless,  and  in  silence  steal  away  from  this 

My  land  ?     Does  not  our  love,  and  pledge  of  faith  once  given, 

Nor  thought  of  Dido,  doomed  to  die  a  cruel  death, 

Detain  thee  ?     Can  it  be  that  under  wintry  skies 

Thou  wouldest  launch  thy  fleet  and  urge  thy  onward  way 

Mid  stormy  blasts  across  the  sea,  O  cruel  one  ? 


42 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


But  what  if  not  a  stranger's  land  and  unknown  homes 

Thou  soughtest;  what  if  Troy,  thy  city,  still  remained: 

Still  wouldst  thou  fare  to  Troy  along  the  wave-tossed  sea  ? 

Is  *t  I  thou  fleest  ?     By  these  tears  and  thy  right  hand — 

Since  in  my  depth  of  crushing  woe  I  've  nothing  left — 

And  by  our  marriage  bond  and  sacred  union  joined, 

If  ever  aught  of  mercy  I  have  earned  of  thee, 

If  I  have  ever  giv'n  thee  one  sweet  drop  of  joy, 

Have  pity  on  my  falling  house,  and  change,  I  pray, 

Thy  cruel  purpose  if  there  still  is  room  for  prayer. 

For  thee  the  Libyan  races  hate  me,  and  my  lords 

Of  Tyre;  for  thee  my  latest  scruple  was  o'ercome; 

My  fame,  by  which  I  was  ascending  to  the  stars. 

My  kingdom,  fates, — all  these  have  I  giv'n  up  for  thee. 

And  thou,  for  whom  dost  thou  abandon  me,  O  guest  ? — 

Since  from  the  name  of  husband  this  sole  name  remains. 

What  wait  I  more  ?     Is  't  till  Pygmalion  shall  come, 

And  lay  my  walls  in  ruins,  or  the  desert  prince, 

larbas,  lead  me  captive  home  ?    O  cruel  fate! 

If  only  ere  thou  fled'st  some  pledge  had  been  conceived 

Of  thee,  if  round  my  halls  some  son  of  thine  might  sport, 

To  bear  thy  name  and  bring  thine  image  back  to  me, 

Then  truly  should  I  seem  not  utterly  bereft. 

jEneas^  seemingly  unmoved  by  her  appeal  (333-361)  : 

I  never  shall  gainsay,  O  Queen,  that  thy  desert 
Can  equal  all  and  more  than  all  that  thou  canst  claim; 
And  ever  in  the  days  to  come  't  will  be  my  joy 
Fair  Dido  to  recall  while  memory  serves  me,  while 
My  spirit  animates  these  limbs. — To  thine  appeal 
A  brief  reply.     I  did  not  hope  to  leave  thy  shores 
By  stealth — believe  it  not — nor  yet  a  husband's  name 


Act  III.     Scenes  2  and  3 

Have  I  desired,  nor  have  I  claimed  the  marriage  bonds. 

If  under  omens  of  my  own  it  were  ordained 

That  I  should  live,  and  lay  aside  at  will  the  weight 

Of  destiny,  then  first  of  all  would  I  restore 

My  Trojan  city  and  the  dear  remains  of  all 

I  called  my  own;  old  Priam's  royal  halls  would  still 

Endure,  and  long  ago  would  I  have  built  again 

Our  ruined  citadel  of  Pergama.     But  now 

To  mighty  Italy  Apollo's  oracle. 

To  Italy  his  lots  command  that  I  repair. 

This  is  my  love  and  this  must  be  my  fatherland. 

If  thou,  though  born  in  distant  Tyre,  art  linked  to  this 

Thy  Carthage  in  the  land  of  Libya,  why,  I  pray, 

Shouldst  thou  begrudge  to  us,  the  Trojan  wanderers, 

Ausonia's  land  ?     'T  is  fate  that  we  as  well  as  thou 

Should  seek  a  foreign  home.     My  sire  Anchises'  shade 

Invades  my  dreams  with  threats  and  admonition  stern. 

Whene'er  with  dewy  shadows  night  o'erspreads  the  earth. 

And  when  I  think  upon  Ascanius  and  the  wrong 

That  I  am  bringing  on  his  head,  though  innocent, 

My  heart  reproaches  me  that  I  am  thwarting  fate. 

Which  promised  him  the  destined  fields  of  Italy. 

And  now  the  very  messenger  of  heav'n  sent  down 

By  Jove  himself — I  swear  by  both  our  lives — has  brought 

The  mandate  through  the  wind-swept  air;  I  saw  the  god 

Myself  in  open  day  invade  thy  city's  walls. 

And  with  these  very  ears  I  heard  his  warning  voice. 

Then  cease  to  vex  thyself  and  me  with  these  complaints; 

*T  is  not  of  mine  own  will  I  fare  to  Italy. 


43 


^ncas,  as  he  speaks,  has  become  as  one  seeing  in  vision  the  glorious  future 
of  his  race.  Dido,  who  has  stood  with  averted  face  and  scornful  look,  now 
turns  upon  him,  in  a  passion  of  grief  and  rage. 


44 


Dido — The  Phcenician  Queen 


h 


( 


Z>/V^  (365-387): 

Thou  art  no  son  of  Venus,  nor  was  Dardanus 

The  ancient  founder  of  thy  race,  thou  faithless  one: 

But  Caucasus  with  rough  and  flinty  crags  begot, 

And  fierce  Hyrcanian  tigers  suckled  thee.     For  why 

Should  I  restrain  my  speech,  or  greater  evil  wait  ? 

Did  he  one  sympathetic  sigh  of  sorrow  heave  ? 

Did  he  one  tear  let  fall,  o'er-mastered  by  my  grief  ? 

Now  neither  Juno,  mighty  queen,  nor  father  Jove 

Impartial  sees;  for  faith  is  everywhere  betrayed. 

That  shipwrecked  beggar  in  my  folly  did  I  take 

And  cause  to  sit  upon  my  throne;  I  saved  his  fleet, 

His  friends  I  rescued — Oh,  the  furies  drive  me  mad! 

Now  't  is  Apollo's  dictate,  now  the  Lycian  lots, 

And  now  "  the  very  messenger  of  heaven  sent  down 

By  Jove  himself  "  to  bring  this  mandate  through  the  air! 

A  fitting  task  is  that  for  heaven's  immortal  lords! 

Such  cares  as  these  disturb  their  everlasting  calm! 

I  seek  not  to  detain  nor  answer  thee;  sail  on 

To  Italy,  seek  fated  realms  beyond  the  seas. 

For  me,  if  pious  prayers  can  aught  avail,  I  pray 

That  thou  amid  the  wrecking  reefs  mayst  drain  the  cup 

Of  retribution  to  the  dregs  and  vainly  call 

Upon  the  name  of  Dido.     Distant  though  I  be, 

With  fury's  torch  will  I  pursue  thee,  and  when  death 

Shall  free  my  spirit,  will  I  haunt  thee  everywhere. 

O  thou  shalt  meet  thy  punishment,  perfidious  one: 

My  soul  shall  know,  for  such  glad  news  would  penetrate 

The  lowest  depths  of  hell. 


She  works  herself  up  to  a  frenzy,  and  as  she  finishes  she  turns  to  leave  him 
with  queenly  scorn,  staggers,  and  falls.  Her  servants  carry  her  from  the  scene, 
leaving  iEneas  in  agony  of  soul,  struggling  between  love  and  duty.     Curtain. 


.1 


>CN£A3 


Act  IV.     Scene  i 


Dido's  chamber  as  in  Act  II.  Scene  i.  Anna  sits  in  the  foreground,  spin- 
ning. The  old  nurse,  Barce,  is  bustling  about,  hanging  up  her  mistress' 
brilliant  robes,  which  she  has  cast  aside  for  her  old  mourning  gown  of  simple 
white.  Dido  is  seated  at  the  latticed  window  watching  the  Trojans  in  the 
harbor  below  prepare  for  their  departure.     She  is  weeping. 

JBarce^  coming  cautiously  to  Anna  so  that  Dido  may  not  hear  (416-418) : 

Behold,  how  eagerly  the  Trojans  launch  their  ships. 
In  their  mad  zeal  they  hurry  timbers  from  the  woods, 
Unhewn  and  rough,  from  which  to  shape  their  masts  and  oars, 
While  from  the  city  shoreward  rush  the  fleeing  men. 

The  shouts  of  the  sailors  are  heard.  Dido  groans.  Anna,  hastily  putting 
aside  her  work,  goes  to  her  sister,  whose  face  is  buried  in  her  hands.  Barce 
takes  up  the  spinning,  stopping  at  times  to  wipe  her  eyes. 

DtdOy  lifting  her  face  to  her  sister  (416-418) : 

Thou  seest,  Anna,  how  they  haste  from  every  side. 
And  how  the  bustle  of  departure  fills  the  shore. 
The  vessels  float,  the  swelling  sails  salute  the  breeze. 
And  now  the  sailors  crown  the  stems  with  festive  wreaths! 

She  gives  way  to  her  tears. 

#- 

Anna,  caressing  her  sister : 

Alas,  my  sister,  for  thy  sighs  and  grieving  tears. 

Thy  love  abandoned  and  thy  trusting  faith  betrayed! 

Z>/V^  (419-434): 

If  this  great  grief  in  expectation  I  have  borne. 
Then  truly  shall  I  patience  have  to  bear  it  still. 

47 


48 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


But,  sister,  grant  me  in  my  woe  this  one  request — 
For  yonder  faithless  one  was  wont  to  cherish  thee 
Alone,  and  trust  to  thee  his  heart;  and  thou  alone 
Dost  know  the  fav'ring  time  and  method  of  approach 
To  try  the  man : — go,  sister,  and  in  suppliant  strain 
Address  our  haughty  foe:  I  took  no  oath  with  Greece 
At  wind-swept  Aulis  to  o'erthrow  the  Trojan  State, 
Nor  did  I  send  a  hostile  fleet  to  Pergama, 
Nor  desecrate  the  sacred  ashes  of  his  sire, 
That  now  he  should  refuse  to  bend  his  ear  to  me. 
Go,  say  his  hapless  lover  makes  this  last  request: 
That  he  wait  an  easy  voyage  and  a  fav'ring  gale. 
No  longer  do  I  ask  a  husband's  love  denied. 
Nor  yet  that  he  abandon  his  fair  land  and  realm; 
Time,  only  time,  I  ask,  a  little  space  of  rest 
From  this  mad  grief,  till  Fortune  give  me  fortitude, 
And  teach  me  how  to  bear  my  woe. 

Anna,  preparing  to  go  (412) : 

O  love  betrayed, 
To  what  despair  dost  thou  not  drive  the  hearts  of  men  ? 

Exit  Anna. 

Dido,  at  the  window,  watches  her  sister  as  she  takes  her  way  down  to  the 
harbor.  When  she  can  no  longer  see  her  in  the  gathering  twilight,  she  turns 
with  a  sigh  to  her  chamber. 

The  old  nurse,  Barce,  totters  to  her.  Dido  places  her  head  wearily  on  the 
old  woman^s  shoulder.  Barce,  drawing  her  to  a  couch,  tries  to  soothe  her. 
Dido  starts  up  in  terror,  as  if  she  saw  some  fearful  shape.  She  flees  before  it 
to  her  husband's  shrine,  and  is  only  recalled  from  the  fancy  when  she  finds  the 
curtains  drawn  before  it. 

Barce  comes  tremblingly  to  her.  Dido  in  bitter  remorse  draws  the  curtains 
from  the  shrine  and  kneels  before  it.  Barce  hurries  away  and  soon  returns 
with  a  lighted  candle,  which  she  brings  to  her  mistress.  Dido  lights  the 
censer.    Curtain. 


Act  IV.     Scene  2 


Act  IV.    Scene  2 


49 


The  same  chamber  in  Dido's  palace.  The  shrine  of  Sychaeus  is  adorned 
'frith  flowers  ;  fire  glows  on  the  altar.     Barce  sits  spinning  at  one  side. 

Dido  is  pacing  the  room  with  fierce  energy.  She  goes  to  the  window  from 
itime  to  time,  then  renews  her  fierce  walking  to  and  fro.  Suddenly  she  presses 
her  hand  to  her  head  as  if  a  new  thought  had  come  to  her.  Her  face  assumes 
an  expression  of  cunning.  She  picks  up  a  golden  goblet,  and  with  a  gesture 
to  the  old  woman  sends  her  to  fill  it. 

When  Barce  has  gone.  Dido  stealthily  but  quickly  takes  y^neas'  sword  from 
the  wall,  and,  seating  herself,  with  trembling  fingers  draws  it  from  its  scab- 
bard. She  feels  the  edge,  shrinking  in  terror  at  the  thought  of  her  intended 
suicide.     With  a  shudder,  she  presses  the  cold  blade  against  her  neck. 

As  she  is  thus  meditating,  her  sister  is  heard  coming.  Dido  quickly  conceals 
the  sword  beneath  the  draperies  of  the  couch.  She  assumes  an  air  of  gayety, 
kissing  her  sister  and  drawing  her  to  a  seat. 

.Z?/V^  (478-498); 

I  've  found  a  way,  my  sister — give  me  joy — to  bring 
Him  back  to  me,  or  free  me  from  the  love  of  him. 
Hard  by  the  confines  of  the  Ocean  in  the  west 
The  -^thiop  country  lies,  where  mighty  Atlas  holds 
Upon  his  giant  shoulders  heaven's  vault,  all  set 
With  stars.     There  dwells  a  priestess  skilled  in  magic  art, 
Of  the  Massylian  race,  and  guardian  of  the  shrine 
Of  the  Hesperides ;  her  care,  the  dragon  huge 
To  which  she  offers  honeydew  and  soothing  herbs. 
The  while  she  guards  the  precious  boughs. — She  claims  the  power 
At  will  to  free  the  soul  from  sorrow  with  her  charms. 
Or  burden  it  with  care;  to  stop  the  rapid  stream. 
And  backward  roll  the  stars;  the  shades  of  darkness  too 
Can  she  awake,  and  at  her  bidding  shalt  thou  hear 
The  rumbling  earth  beneath  thy  feet,  and  see  the  trees 
Descend  the  mountain  slopes. — I  swear  it  by  the  gods 
And  thee,  unwillingly  I  seek  the  magic  art. 
Do  thou  within  the  palace  rear  a  lofty  pyre. 
And  place  upon  its  top  the  faithless  hero's  arms 
4 


so 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


K 


Which  in  his  flight  he  left  within  our  halls,  yea  all 
That  he  has  left,  and  then  our  wedding  couch,  my  cause 
Of  woe;  my  heart  is  set  to  banish  every  trace 
Of  that  perfidious  one,  and  this  the  priestess  bids. 

Anna  assents  to  her  plan,  and  hurries  away  to  execute  it.  Dido  quickly 
takes  the  sword  from  its  hiding-place  and  in  tremulous  haste  hangs  it  again 
upon  the  wall.  Barce  enters.  Dido  turns,  fearing  detection,  but  seeing  that 
the  old  nurse  has  not  suspected  her,  she  takes  the  cup  in  her  trembling  fin- 
gers and  drains  it.     Curtain. 

Act  IV.     Scene  3 

Dido's  chamber,  night.  Dido  is  seated  in  the  moonlight  that  streams  through 
the  open  casement.  A  band  of  maidens,  clad  in  white,  are  singing  softly  to 
her. 

Chorus  of  maidens  (apropos  of  522-528) : 

[For  music,  see  p.  8i] 

'T  is  eve;  *t  is  night;  a  holy  quiet  broods 
O'er  the  mute  world — winds,  waters  are  at  peace; 
The  beasts  lie  couch*d  amid  unstirring  woods, 
The  fishes  slumber  in  the  sounds  and  seas; 
No  twitt'ring  bird  sings  farewell  from  the  trees. 
Hushed  is  the  dragon's  cry,  the  lion's  roar; 
Beneath  her  glooms  a  glad  oblivion  frees 
The  heart  from  care,  its  weary  labors  o'er, 
Carrying  divine  repose  and  sweetness  to  its  core. 

[Selected  from  Tasso.] 
They  quietly  withdraw.     Dido  is  convulsed  with  weeping. 

z>/V/<?  (529-532;  534-552): 

But  not  for  me,  unhappy  one,  this  night's  sweet  calm; 
My  cares  redouble  and  o'erwhelm  me  with  their  flood. 

She  leaves  the  window  and  paces  the  room. 


Act  IV.     Scene  3  51 

Ah  me,  what  shall  I  do  ?     My  former  suitors  seek 

And  be  again  rejected  ?     Shall  I  humbly  court 

Numidia's  lords  whose  suit  I  have  so  often  scorned  ? 

Or  shall  I  rather  follow  haughty  Ilium's  fleet, 

Submissive  to  their  every  will  ? — Because  in  sooth, 

*T  is  sweet  to  be  delivered,  and  my  former  aid 

Still  dwells  within  their  faithful  memory  ?     But  who. 

Though  I  should  wish  it,  would  permit  me,  or  receive 

The  hated  Dido  in  their  haughty  ships  ?     Ah,  poor. 

Deluded  one,  dost  thou  not  know,  dost  thou  not  still 

Perceive  the  frailty  of  a  Trojan  oath  ?     What  then  ? 

Shall  I  forsake  my  kingdom  and  accompany 

The  joyful  sailors,  or  with  all  my  Tyrian  bands 

Around  me,  follow  in  pursuit  and  force  again 

My  friends  upon  the  deep  and  bid  them  spread  their  sails, 

My  comrades  whom  with  pain  I  weaned  from  Sidon's  halls  ? 

Nay,  nay!  as  thou  deservest,  die,  and  with  the  sword 

Thy  sorrows  end.     O  why  was  it  not  given  me 

To  spend  my  life  from  wedlock  and  its  sorrows  free, 

As  beasts  within  their  forest  lairs  ?     Or  why,  alas, 

Was  not  my  promise  to  Sychaeus'  ashes  kept  ? 

She  sprinkles  incense  on  the  flame  at  the  shrine  of  Sychaeus.  Dawn  begins 
to  brighten.  The  sailors  are  heard  singing  in  the  distance.  Dido  starts.  She 
rushes  to  the  window,  and  looking  out,  sees  the  Trojan  fleet  sailing  away  over 
the  sea.     She  cries  out  in  frenzy. 

Dido  (590-629): 

Ye  gods  !  and  shall  he  go,  and  mock  our  royal  power  ? 
Why  not  to  arms  and  send  our  forces  in  pursuit. 
And  bid  them  hurry  down  the  vessels  from  the  shore  ? 
Ho  there,  my  men,  quick,  fetch  the  torches,  seize  your  arms, 
And  man  the  oars! — What  am  I  saying  ?  where  am  I  ? 
What  madness  turns  my  brain  ?     O  most  unhappy  queen. 


52 


Dido— The  Phoenician  Queen 


Is  it  thus  thy  evil  deeds  are  coming  back  to  thee  ? 

Such  fate  was  just  when  thou  didst  yield  thy  scepter  up. — 

Lo,  there  's  the  fealty  of  him  who,  rumor  says, 

His  country's  gods  with  him  in  all  his  wandering  bears 

And  on  his  shoulders  bore  his  sire  from  burning  Troy! 

Why  could  I  not  have  torn  his  body  limb  from  limb. 

And  strewed  his  members  on  the  deep  ?  and  slain  his  friends, 

His  son  Ascanius,  and  served  his  mangled  limbs 

To  grace  his  father's  feast  ?— Such  conflict  might  have  had 

A  doubtful  issue. — Grant  it  might,  but  whom  had  I, 

Foredoomed  to  death,  to  fear  ?     I  might  have  fired  his  camp, 

His  ships,  and  wrapped  in  common  ruin  father,  son. 

And  all  the  race,  and  given  myself  to  crown  the  doom 

Of  all. — O  Sun,  who  with  thy  shining  rays  dost  see 

All  mortal  deeds;  O  Juno,  who  dost  know  and  thus 

Canst  judge  the  grievous  cares  of  wedlock;  thou  whom  wild 

And  shrieking  women  worship  through  the  dusky  streets, 

O  Hecate;  and  ye  avenging  Furies;— ye. 

The  gods  of  failing  Dido,  come  and  bend  your  power 

To  these  my  woes  and  hear  my  prayer.     If  yonder  wretch 

Must  enter  port  and  reach  his  land  decreed  by  fate, 

If  thus  the  laws  of  Jove  ordain,  this  order  holds: 

But,  torn  in  war,  a  hardy  people's  foeman,  far 

From  friends  and  young  lulus'  arms,  may  he  be  forced 

To  seek  a  Grecian  stranger's  aid,  and  may  he  see 

The  death  of  many  whom  he  loves.     And  when  at  last 

A  meager  peace  on  doubtful  terms  he  has  secured, 

May  he  no  pleasure  find  in  kingdom  or  in  life; 

But  may  he  fall  untimely,  and  unburied  lie 

Upon  some  solitary  strand.     This,  this  I  pray. 

And  with  my  latest  breath  this  final  wish  proclaim. 

Then,  O  my  Tyrians,  with  a  bitter  hate  pursue 

The  whole  accursed  race,  and  send  this  to  my  shade 


Act  IV.     Scene  3 


53 


As  welcome  tribute.     Let  there  be  no  amity 
Between  our  peoples.     Rise  thou  from  my  bones, 
O  some  avenger,  who  with  deadly  sword  and  brand 
Shall  scathe  the  Trojan  exiles,  now,  in  time  to  come. 
Whenever  chance  and  strength  shall  favor.     Be  our  shores 
To  shores  opposed,  our  waves  to  waves,  and  arms  to  arms, 
Eternal,  deadly  foes  through  all  posterity. 

The  servants  rush  in  terrified  during  her  passionate  speech,  and  as  she  utters 
her  curse,  stand  cowering  before  her.  She  dismisses  with  a  gesture  all  except 
old  Barce,  who  approaches  her  mistress. 

(634-640) : 

Go,  bring  my  sister  Anna  hither,  dearest  nurse: 

In  flowing  water  bid  her  haste  to  bathe  her  limbs, 

And  bring  the  rightful  sacrifices  of  the  flock. 

So  let  her  come.     And  thou  with  pious  fillets  gird 

Thy  temples;  for  to  Stygian  Jove  my  mind  is  fixed 

To  carry  on  the  magic  sacrifice  begun, 

And  end  my  cares,  and  to  devouring  flames  consign 

The  relics  of  that  cursed  son  of  Dardanus. 


Barce  totters  away  to  do  her  bidding.     Dido  takes  i£neas*  mantle  and  sword 
from  the  wall,  and  unsheathes  the  sword. 

(651-662): 

Sweet  pledges  of  my  lord,  while  fate  and  god  allowed. 

Accept  this  soul  of  mine,  and  free  me  from  my  cares. 

For  I  have  lived  and  run  the  course  that  Fortune  set; 

And  now  my  stately  soul  to  Hades  shall  descend. 

A  noble  city  have  I  built;  my  husband's  death 

Have  I  avenged,  and  on  my  brother's  head  my  wrath 

Inflicted.     Happy,  ah  too  happy,  had  the  keels 

Of  Troy  ne'er  touched  my  shores! — And  shall  I  perish  thus  ? — 


54 


Dido — The  Phoenician  Queen 


But  let  me  perish.     Thus,  oh  thus,  *t  is  sweet  to  seek 
The  land  of  shadows. — May  the  heartless  Trojan  see, 
As  on  he  fares  across  the  deep,  my  blazing  pyre. 
And  bear  with  him  the  gloomy  omens  of  my  death. 

She  rushes  forth  from  the  chamber  in  her  frenzy.  The  sailors'  chorus  is 
repeated  fainter  and  fainter.  In  a  moment  her  death  cry  is  heard.  The  ser- 
vants rush  in,  and  finding  their  mistress  gone,  hasten  in  the  direction  of  her  cry. 
Their  lamentation  is  heard.  They  return  bearing  the  body  of  the  queen  upon 
a  couch.  She  has  fainted,  and  upon  her  bosom  the  wound  shows  red  and 
terrible.     Anna  enters,  beside  herself  with  grief. 

AntUZy  kneeling  beside  the  couch,  addresses  Dido,  who  revives  enough  to 
smile  upon  her  sister  (676-685) : 

Was  it  for  this,  O  sister,  thou  didst  seek  to  hide 

Thy  heart  from  me  ?    Was  this  the  meaning  of  the  pyre, 

And  this  the  altar  fires  ?    What  plaint  in  my  despair 

Shall  I  offer  first  ?     And  didst  thou  spurn  me,  in  thy  death  ? 

Thou  shouldst  instead  have  bidden  me  to  share  thy  fate; 

The  selfsame  moment  should  have  reft  the  lives  of  both. 

And  with  these  impious  hands  did  I  thine  altar  rear, 

And  with  this  voice  unto  our  country's  gods  appeal, 

That,  heartless,  I  might  fail  thee  in  this  final  hour  ? 

O  sister,  here  hast  thou  destroyed  thyself  and  me. 

Thy  people,  thy  Sidonian  fathers  and  thy  realm. 

With  soothing  water  let  me  bathe  her  flowing  wounds, 

And  if  there  hovers  on  her  lips  the  fleeting  breath. 

With  my  own  lips  I  claim  it  in  the  kiss  of  death. 

The  sailors'  chorus  sounds  in  the  distance.  Aroused  by  this,  the  dying 
queen  half  raises  herself  upon  the  couch.  The  servants  throw  open  the  case- 
ment and  the  Trojan  ships  are  seen  far  away,  sailing  off  over  the  sea. 

Dido  falls  back  lifeless.     Curtain. 


MUSIC 


ss 


SONGS 

PAGB 

Prelude 57 

The  authors  are  indebted  to  Professor  A.  A.  Stanley  of  the 
University  of  Michigan  for  the  accompaniment  to  this  air. 

Hymn  to  the  Dawn 61 

Invocation 69 

Song  of  Iopas          ........  72 

Slumber  Song 81 


S« 


PRELUDE 

To  be  sung  in  unison  before  the  curtain. 


57 


<!f^"iw-  '.'II  If  I,-  Mf  .IJII  ,'l 


t 


Ar-mavi-rum-queca-no,   Tro  -  iae    qui     pri-musab  0  -  ris 


I  -  ta-li-am,   fa  -   to     pro-fu-gus,  La-vi  -   na-que  ve  -  nit 


frfj 


-^- 


T' 


^ 


m 


rf=p 


-<5>- 


-ts^ 


1 — f 


F 


:3 


,        I  "T~ni 


^ 


<m 


«: 


-*-^ 


rill-  t-  If  ii\\lLii=hJ 


fi 


Id- to-ra,mtd-to°>il.l*     etter-ris     iac-ta-t<uetaI-to 
!■    I        !  J.  ■      I       I    I.    .    J 


mmn. 


uz: 


H^ 


i 


-i  .4- J 


J    J     I  I   J     =q 


2 


58 


PRELUDE 


■0     # 


s: 


Kj^* ^i^ ^ «» ^ 


a^ 


MqI -  ta  quo-qn* et  bel  - lo      pas  •    bub,   duin    con  -de-ret  or  -  ben^ 

•     J — I    ■ 


i 


J    15    J 


^         gj 


t=T 


Lng    ^    Ifg 


^ 


t 


^C3sm^^hJEh 


^a: 


3 


te 


.a. 


-/9- 


5=* 


■rS»- 


1 ^ 


it 


t 


^JiJ  J^ir  r 


In  •  fer  -  ret-  que  de -  os    La-  ti •  o:    ge-nns  nn  •  de  La-  ti  -  nmn 

4 1- 


-<»- 


-^ 


i 


If- 2^ 


I        J      I 


X 


i 


15- 


4: 


t 


31 


3=^ 


PRELUDE 


59 


22: 


f  r  'T  -^  i^u^^i— ^ 


Al  -  ba  -  ni  -   que  pa  -  trea     at  -    qu*    al-tae    moe  -   ni  -  a 


-d^ 


9^—^ 


Lttb   '■' 


^7 


2: 


g 


•-#- 


3 


5^^ 


g 


-«'- 


^^ 


t= 


-«• !^- 


-<S>- 


X 


-^ 


Ro- mae.      Ma-   8a,mi-hi       can-  sas      me-mo-ra»      quo 

1^.1 Ulr-A \-r-A \-X 


tz^ 


-f2 ^- 


1=t 


X 


^ 


t 


■a- 


X 


t 


^ 


.^2. 


.^2- 


^ 


nn  -   mi-ne  lae  -  so^        Quid-  ye  do -lens,     re  -   gi  -    na  de  - 


^-^\..        \\     J    I  I     J  I  j  ^ 


^ 


60 


PRELUDE 


ut^>     !       I    II    i       II 


itf 


:^ 


r  rir  rf 


i 


'f'<j^f^ 


i'\UM  ■!  ^iJ- 


3: 


a 


i 


-« 


■^ 


^^^^ 


^-*- 


g 


A 1 


-fSi- 


i 


n 


^ 


^ 


i 


t»- 


^^ 


ta    -    te    vi  -  mm,    tot  ad  -  i    -    re  la  -  bo  -  res      Im  -  pn  -  le  - 


if'''   ^      Vi|l|,l     |1^   jl'j    L^l 


♦  ^ 


Act  L    ScKMm  L 


HYMN  TO  THE  DAWN 

Chorus  of  Cartfaaginian  Maidens 


€1 


li — 3_e — «  ■  >° —  -  M.  '^£  ^ 

r    =^ 


f 


^ 


M  ^ 

^ 


^^^^^^ 


Wake,    Aa  -  ro   -    ra,  wake,    An  -  ro  -   ra,     wake! 


Wake,  An  -  ro  -  ra,  wake! 

6va., 


i£ 


Wake,  An  -  ro  -  ra,  Wakel      An  - 

8va 


'  '     I  '  Ml  I  ^1  I  ^  I 


»jt- 


5;=P=t 


8va pp  rit. 


rit       Sva. 


t=^ 


m 


62 


HYMN  TO  THE  DAWN 


4fcg— I 


i 


«.it^'-^^-^- 


5 


A— ( 


>— ^ 


s 


^=^^ 


t 


Come, ro-sy- fin  -  geredgod  -  dess  of 


the  dawn. 


i 


fij 


«=^ 


:i=^ 


g 


£ 


i 


The       saf 


fron   conch      of      old 


Ti 


^^5 


M=m:± 


HYMN  TO  THE  DAWN 
rit. 


^ — •- 


/T\ 


?-^ 


» 


N     "NT 


i 


^= 


nns  scorn 
n7. 


ing;  Fling     wide  the  gold    - 


.    en 


iiiti 


=F 


w 


3 


i 


M 


rit 


'^f^ 


■fr^ 


az=« 


E 


^^^^ 


W k<     ) 


v^-i^ 


i 


fc«: 


port-  als  of    the  morn  -  ing,  And  bid   the  gloom-y  mists  of  night  be  - 


t 


3W: 


■gtg- 


*: 


:i 


*   rt/.l^ 


^ 


^=^ 


I 


64 


i 


*fc= 


HTMN  TO  THE  DAWN 


8va. 


The 


&$ 


2 


i^ 


4-. 


^^^^^ 


f 


r 


^^ 


dew  -  y     stars  have  sped  their  si  •  lent     flighty 


ft^nl 


^ 


$ 


Hi.      cres. 


mfa  tempo. 


Hiii 


glo  •  ries     of      thy     tsy*    ex  •pect  •  iig;     With 
Sva "* 

* >■ 


^ 


^ 


(!  ;  'i^  t 


£ 


HYMN  TO  THE  DAWN 


65 


A;*:^ 


^^s^ 


t=<^ 


^ 


r 


i 


ro  -  sy  beaa  -  ty  from     a  -  far   re-flect  -   ing, 


f^^ 


fffW 


fltnimondb  e  crescendo 


iSS  r:  i'  >g?-rf 


S 


I 

f 


1 


66 


HTUN  TO  THE  DAWN 


Riae,       A  -  pol    -    lo,  rise!       A  -  pol    -    lo,         rise!         Send 

^ 


22: 


JSL^ 


iijiu  i  t : :  ii 


forth    thy    heal  -  ing     rays       to 

.1  r  r  t^ 


4       r^- 


greet        the    wor^d. 


^ 


I.  &  n.  Sop. 


^ 


cr'^^ 


Send       forth  thy  heal 

^-^ ' 


^^ 


ing  rays  to  greet  the  world, 

-I U 


WWWT& 


^ 


^ 


;>;.L    :i 


Up- 


I 


If 


r 


HYMN  TO  THE  DAWN 


67 


few  j  J.    J 


S3 


^ 


thy   bless-    ed     ra- diance  stream -ing;... 


i 


o.  j^r:;j  : 


:^=^ 


1 


/ 


68 


HYMN  TO  THB  DAWN 


of  thy  gold  -  en  light  nnfnrled,         The 


a  tempo  e  crescendo 


crescendo 


m 


i^\\i\i\^i'-\ 


n/.rrr 


ban-nera  of   thy    gold 


-<52- 


t 


^ 


f 


en         light on  • 


furled. 


mi 


8VCL ^  J 


^  8va. 


m 


m 


INVOCATION 

Act  I.    ScBNB  3. 


€a 


m 


■*— » 


(Dido)  0 


^ 


?  s;  I  f  i  ?  "^  * 


cresc. 


^ 


^^ 


*=a 


«: 


^ 


"'  T'  t  feg'l!^^ 


r^  '      ^ 


t 


t 


JoTe,  thou  lord  of  gods  and  men,     since   'tis       from   thee      The 

A  AAA 


S 


Sg=^ 


z: 


S 


7 

A 


3: 


^ 


z: 


t!^ 


-<9- 


S=a: 


!^f   ^ 


S 


rites     of    hos  -   pi  •  tsl    -    i  -  ty        pro  -  coed, 


or 


^ 


z: 


-8' 


tS- 


3 


32: 


^ 


70 


INVOCATION 


^"^  J  ■ ;  J  J 


:?==?: 


I        I)     I 


t 


^ 


dain    That  thia    may     be        a     day      of       joy      to     us 


of 


^5? 


;b;,,J    J  I  J-/ 


J — l 


^^N 


crescendo  et  accelerando 


^ 


-fi- 


iJZ 


i 


fi-r 


1 


^ 


*c 


± 


-• — * 


a 


Tyre     And   these   the   Tro  -  jan      ez    •    ilea; 


let     its 


T 


t^         -S5h        {Jjgh 


i 


rO. 


-tf»- 


1 


gt^=^ 


E 


:^ 


r  IP''  p*' 


*^ 


t 


^ 


fame     go  down   To      our 

A  A 


de  -  scendants,         to      onr 


^ 


^     4 


5^ 


* 


m 


^^ 


t 


^ 


*a 


INVOCATION 


71 


cre». 


^p^ 


:l»ic 


± 


* 


scend    -    -    ants.         May     the   god      of   wine    and    joy,       And 


I  tit,  p  f    atem 

L:i>    g|.    «1  I  = 


rz. 


^ 


3 


I 


^ 


s: 


TSr 


1 


i 


/^  A 

1 T  •  n# 


FZNBi 


i^ 


E 


■^— ^ 


,  / /7T 


i 


-<»- 


fofl  -  taring,    Ja    •     no,     grace    and    eel  -  e-brate    the    day. 

A  A 


A- 


-t»- 


dim  e  rU^ 

J        J 


I 


t^ 


t 


i 


*  The  Invocation  is  repeated  by  the  entire  company  in  unison. 


if 


SONG  OF  lOPAS 

Adapted  from  Chopin,  Nocturne  in  G  minor 


; ;  J  J-  J' 


*— ^  i[*  f 


1.  Of    the    orb     of    the  wan  •  der  ■  ing 
4.  Of     the   man  -  i  .  fold  won  -  den  of 


SONG  OF  lOPAS 


73 


r!Tl\  iJi  I"  ^N 


moon 
life 


I     sing,     As    she    wheels  thro'  the  dark  -  en  -  ing 
I     sing,     Its  mys  -   ter  -  ies  striv  -  ing    to 


^S 


S^ 


fes^ 


tt=t 


^m 


PF=^ 


-^Hf  iir^LM 


?-*-^ 


skies;  Where  the  storm-brood-ing  band  of  the  Hy-  a- des  swing,  And  the 
scan.  In        the  rip  -   plingwave,    on  the  flut  -  ter-ing  wing,  In 


^^ 


M  ^ir^'inihfj].^^ 


I! 


74 


SONG  OF  lOPAS 


|i 


fc 


^==t=± 


^ 


circ  -  ling  Tri-  o  -  nes  a  -   rise; 
beast  and   all-dom  -  in  -  ant   man. 


^mr^ 


Of    the    sun's  strug-gling  ball  Which  the 
Tis  the      in   -  dwell -ing  soul  Of       the 


^^ 


E 


-  n ;  n-i 


* 


nrff-grt 


SONG  OF  lOPAS 


75 


^^^m 


Ut  time. 


^-i■ 


^^^^^ 


^ 


-<5>- 


f3f 


I 


shad-ows  ap-pall,  Till    the    men  >  ac- ing  dark- ness    flies; 

god     of    the  whole,  Since  the    [omit ] 


^iM^-M-^^^ 


t 


J^ 


JLf  J  fl-^--j^  1 1  n  J— ^ 


-«&- 


f=f: 


.,  y    r-K  T••X^j^   y-tf    rr^-^ 


P 


ind  time. 


FiNB. 


Solo 


5 


H •-T-^ 


i^ 


x__r '6 


t^' — ^ 


dawn  of     ere  -  a  -  tion  be  -   gan. 

-12- 


2.  Of    the 


i^^^^M4H:^\\\    ■',  ^  ^^ 


76 


SONG  OF  lOPAS 


^- 


O- 


i9- 


P_=^ 


■t^ — ^- 


4- y 


1^ ^ 


* 


3t=t 


^ 


all    -    po  -  tent  for  -  ces    that    dwell     in    the    air,      With    its 


Hit 


T 


-«-T- 


-i^-Z- 


h^^ 


i 


^ 


b=s: 


■*'^i>- 


ilt 


meas  -  ore  -  less  reach  -  es     of       bine; 


i 


M 


fe 


iqF=g: 


-O- 


~  i  ii.n 


:t=:|: 


■B^ 


The 


i:^ 


^ 


^ 


fe: 


:&= 


:tt^ 


t 


-;5- 


!.         I 


soft      float  -  ing    clouds     of gos  -   sa   -   mer   there, 

J 


t 


-t»- 


lO^ 


1: 


gN^ 


^=* 


^ 


-«^ 


P 


^ 


80NG  OF  lOPAS 


77 


*=f 


And    the 


-^ 


^ 


E% 


rj;  n- 


-<s»- 


f 


i   ^j.i   iri 


i 


^ 


^ 


fc 


^ 


* 


^ 


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SLUMBER  SONG 


Act  IV.    Scene  3.     Chonu  of  Maidens 


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II 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


Illustrious  Troy!  renown 'd  in  every  clime 

Through  the  long  records  of  succeeding  time; 

Who  saw  protecting  gods  from  heaven  descend 

Full  oft,  thy  royal  bulwarks  to  defend. 

Though  chiefs  unnumber'd  in  her  cause  were  slain, 

With  fate  the  gods  and  heroes  fought  in  vain; 

That  refuge  of  perfidious  Helen's  shame 

At  midnight  was  involved  in  Grecian  flame; 

And  now,  by  time's  deep  ploughshare  harrow'd  o'er, 

The  seat  of  sacred  Troy  is  found  no  more. 

No  trace  of  her  proud  fabrics  now  remains. 

But  corn  and  vines  enrich  her  cultured  plains. 

Falconer,  Shipwreck. 


91 


THE  PERSONS  OF  THE  DRAMA 


-/Eneas,  son  of  Anchises  and  Venus,  son-in-law  of  Priam,  and, 
since  the  death  of  Hector,  the  leader  of  the  Trojan  war- 
chiefs. 

Priam,  king  of  Troy,  now  enfeebled  by  age. 

Anchises,  the  aged  father  of  -^neas. 

Laocoon,  a  son  of  Priam  and  priest  of  Apollo. 

Panthus,  a  Trojan  noble,  priest  of  Apollo. 

CoRCEBUS,  a  Phrygian  noble,  ally  of  Priam,  in  love  with  Cassandra. 

The  Ghost  of  Hector. 

Ascanius,  son  of  -^neas  and  Creiisa  (silent). 

Venus,  the  goddess  of  love,  mother  of  ^Eneas. 

Hecuba,  wife  of  Priam. 

Creusa,  wife  of  -^neas. 

Cassandra,  daughter  of  Priam,  reputed  to  be  mad. 

Pyrrhus,  son  of  Achilles,  leader  of  the  Greeks  in  their  final 
attack  upon  Troy. 

Sinon,  a  Greek  tool,  through  whose  treachery  the  Trojans  were 
induced  to  admit  the  wooden  horse  within  their  walls. 

Androgeos,  a  Greek  chieftain. 

Trojan  warriors,  nobles,  and  commons,  shepherds,  priestly 
attendants,  boys,  women,  etc. 

Greek  warriors. 


ACT  I 


93 


i      \ 


The  Fall  of  T 


roy 


Act  I.     Scene  i 

The  plain  in  front  of  Troy;  the  city  walls;  the  sea;  and,  in  the  distance, 
Tenedos.  Morning,  without  the  gates.  Joyful  crowds  of  men,  women,  and 
children  pour  through  the  open  doors.  They  gather  about  the  strange  wooden 
horse  which  stands  without,  and  excitedly  inquire  what  it  means,  and  what 
shall  be  done  with  it.  Thymoetes  voices  the  sentiment  of  one  party  that  it 
should  be  taken  within  the  walls  and  set  upon  the  citadel;  while  Capys  and 
his  adherents  urge  that  they  should  examine  the  mystery  where  it  stands,  and 
destroy  it.  Great  confusion  reigns.  The  sentiment  of  Thymoetes  seems  about 
to  prevail  (26-39). 

Enter  Laocoon,  running,  followed  by  a  band  of  priestly  attendants,  and 
shouting  while  still  at  some  distance. 


Laocoon  (42-49): 

What  madness,  wretched  citizens,  is  this? 
Can  you  believe  your  enemies  have  fled, 
Or  can  you  think  that  any  gifts  of  Greeks 
Are  innocent  of  guile?     So  have  you  learned 
To  judge  Ulysses?     No,  within  this  horse 
The  crafty  Greeks  are  lying  even  now, 
Or  else  its  towering  bulk  has  been  contrived 
To  give  them  spying  place  upon  our  homes, 
Or  chance  to  scale  our  city's  battlements. 
Be  sure  some  dark  design  is  hidden  here. 
Trust  not  the  horse,  my  friends;  whate'er  it  is, 
I  fear  the  Greeks,  though  armed  with  gifts  alone. 


He   hurls   his   spear,  which   sticks  fast  in  the  wooden   horse   and   stands 
quivering  there. 

95 


96 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


Act  I.     Scene  2 


97 


I 


Scene  2 

Enter  Trojan  shepherds,  dragging  in  a  man  bound  with  thongs.  They 
approach  the  king.  The  bystanders  jibe  at  and  mock  the  captive.  The 
unknown  stands  as  if  bewildered  and  distraught,  and  at  last  cries  (69-72): 

Where  now,  alas,  can  I  a  refuge  find 
On  land  or  sea?     What  chance  of  life  remains 
For  one  who  can  no  longer  claim  a  place 
Among  the  Greeks?  and  now  his  bloody  death 
The  vengeful  sons  of  Dardanus  demand. 

The  Trojans  in  wonder  and  with  growing  pity  urge  him  to  explain  himself. 
He  at  last  proceeds,  having  with  an  apparent  effort  regained  his  self-control 
(77-104): 

All  things  and  truly  will  I  tell  to  thee, 
O  king,  whatever  comes;  nor  will  I  seek 
To  hide  that  I  am  Grecian  born.     This  first; 
For  though  in  woe  my  fate  has  plunged  me  deep 
It  shall  not  make  me  false  and  faithless  too. 
If  any  chance  report  has  touched  your  ears 
With  Palamedes'  name,  great  Belus'  son, 
Whom,  though  he  was  all  innocent  of  guile, 
Yet  still,  because  his  voice  was  ever  raised 
Against  the  war,  by  accusations  false 
The  Greeks  condemned,  and  sent  to  gloomy  death; 
But  whom  they  now  with  fruitless  grief  lament: 
To  him  my  sire,  while  yet  the  war  was  young. 
By  poverty  impelled,  consigned  his  son 
To  serve  the  prince,  by  double  ties  endeared 
Of  blood  and  comradeship. 

While  he  in  power 
And  in  the  councils  of  the  kings  stood  high, 
I,  too,  by  his  reflected  light,  enjoyed 
Both  name  and  fair  renown.     But  when  at  last, 


Through  false  Ulysses*  murderous  hate  and  guile, 

(I  speak  what  you  do  know),  his  death  was  wrought; 

In  deep  distress,  in  darkness  and  in  woe 

I  spent  my  days,  and  mourned  the  hapless  fate 

Of  my  poor  friend.     And,  maddened  by  my  grief, 

I  would  not  hold  my  peace,  but  loudly  swore, 

That  if  the  fates  of  war  should  bring  me  back 

As  victor  to  my  native  land  of  Greece, 

I  should  full  vengeance  take;  and  by  my  words 

Dire  hatred  'gainst  my  luckless  self  I  roused. 

Here  was  the  fountain  source  of  all  my  woes; 

From  now  Ulysses,  crafty  enemy, 

Began  to  spread  vague  hints  among  the  Greeks, 

Prefer  strange  charges,  and  to  seek  some  cause 

Against  me,  conscious  in  his  heart  of  guilt. 

Nor  did  he  rest,  until  by  Calchas'  aid  — 

But  why  do  I  rehearse  this  senseless  tale 

To  heedless  ears?     Or  wherefore  should  I  seek 

To  stay  your  hands,  if  'tis  enough  to  hear 

That  I  am  Greek,  and  in  your  hostile  minds 

All  Greeks  are  judged  alike. 

Come,  glut  your  hate 
Upon  me.     For  Ulysses  would  rejoice 
To  know  that  I  am  dead,  and  Atreus'  sons 
Would  gladly  purchase  this  with  great  reward. 

Here  the  stranger  pauses  in  seeming  despair  and  resignation  to  his  fate. 
The  Trojans  urge  him  to  go  on  with  his  story.     He  resumes  (108-144): 

Full  oft  the  Greeks,  in  utter  weariness 
Of  that  long  siege,  desired  to  abandon  Troy, 
And  seek  their  homes  again.     Oh,  that  they  had! 
But  whensoe'er  they  addressed  them  to  the  sea, 


98 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


Rough  wintry  blasts  and  storms  affrighted  them. 

And  when  this  horse,  of  wooden  timbers  framed, 

Completed  stood,  a  votive  offering, 

The  winds  from  every  quarter  of  the  heavens 

Howled  threateningly.     To  seek  the  will  of  Heaven, 

The  anxious  Greeks  despatch  Eurypylus 

To  Phoebus'  oracle.     He  straight  reports 

Apollo's  mandate  grim  and  terrible: 

"  Before,  O  Greeks,  ye  sailed  to  Troia's  shores, 

Ye  first  had  need  to  appease  the  angry  winds 

With  bloody  sacrifice — a  maiden's  death. 

E'en  so,  by  blood  must  your  return  be  sought; 

Again  must  Grecian  life  atonement  make." 

When  this  dire  oracle  among  the  crowd, 

From  ear  to  ear,  from  lip  to  lip  was  spread, 

They  stood  with  horror  stunned,  and  chilling  fear 

Their  inmost  hearts  with  dire  forebodings  filled. 

They  trembling  ask  for  whom  the  fates  prepare, 

Whom  does  Apollo  seek  in  punishment  ? 

Then  comes  the  Ithacan  with  clamor  loud. 

The  prophet  Calchas  dragging  in  our  midst, 

And  bids  with  charge  insistent  that  he  tell 

The  will  of  heaven.     And  now  from  many  lips 

The  grim  forebodings  of  Ulysses'  guile 

Assail  my  ears,  while  all  in  silence  wait 

To  see  the  end.     Ten  days  the  seer  was  mute, 

Hid  in  his  tent,  refusing  steadily 

By  word  of  his  to  doom  a  man  to  death. 

At  length,  his  feigned  reluctance  at  an  end, 

And  goaded  by  Ulysses'  clamors  loud, 

He  spoke,  and  named  me  as  the  sacrifice. 

All  gave  assent;  and  while  each  feared  a  doom 

Which  might  befall  himself,  they  calmly  bore 


Act  I.     Scene  2 


99 


When  on  my  wretched  head  they  saw  it  light. 

And  now  the  day  of  horror  was  at  hand. 

All  things  were  ready  for  the  sacrifice; 

The  salted  meal  was  sprinkled  on  my  head, 

And  round  my  brows  the  fatal  fillets  twined. 

Then,  I  confess  it,  did  I  break  my  bonds. 

I  fled  from  death  and  in  the  sedgy  reeds 

Along  the  muddy  margin  of  a  lake 

All  night  I  lay  in  hiding,  hoping  there 

To  lurk  until  their  homeward  sails  were  spread. 

And  now  my  country  dear  I  ne'er  shall  see. 

My  darling  children  and  my  aged  sire 

Whose  face  I  long  to  see.     But  they  are  doomed 

To  pay  the  penalty  which  I  escaped. 

And  by  their  death  repair  this  fault  of  mine. 

But  by  the  gods  above,  divinities 

Who  with  impartial  eyes  behold  the  truth, 

If  anywhere  there  still  abides  with  men 

Unsullied  faith,  I  beg  you,  pity  me 

Who  have  endured  so  dire  a  weight  of  woe, 

A  soul  that  has  been  foully  overborne. 

The  Trojans  are  moved  to  tears  by  this  tale  of  woe;  and  Priam  bids  the 
chains  be  stricken  from  him.    He  then  addresses  the  prisoner  with  friendly  words. 

Priam  (i 48-1 51): 

Who'er  thou  art,  away  with  thoughts  of  Greeks. 

Be  man  of  ours.     And,  as  I  question  thee. 

Give  true  reply.     What  means  this  monster  horse? 

Who  first  proposed,  and  what  its  purpose  here? 

Is  it  some  votive  gift,  or  does  it  stand 

Against  our  walls  as  enginery  of  war? 

Sinon  stretches  his  freed  hands  to  the  heavens.     He  speaks  excitedly  and 
as  one  inspired. 


lOO 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


Sinon  (154-194): 

O  ye  eternal  fires,  be  witness  now, 

Ye  heavenly  stars,  divine,  inviolate, 

Ye  cursed  knives,  and  altars  which  I  fled, 

Ye  fillets  which  as  victim  doomed  I  wore: 

'Tis  right  for  me  to  break  all  sacred  oaths 

Which  bound  me  to  the  Greeks;  'tis  right  to  hate. 

And  blab  their  secrets  to  the  common  air. 

I'll  not  be  held  by  any  ties  of  land 

Or  law.     Do  thou  but  keep  thy  promises, 

O  Troy,  and,  saved  by  me,  keep  plighted  faith, 

If  I  with  truth  shall  make  thee  rich  returns. 

Recovering  himself,  he  goes  on  more  quietly,  and  with  an  air  of  perfect 
sincerity.  ^ 

The  Greeks'  whole  hope  and  confidence  in  war 

Had  rested  from  the  first  on  Pallas'  aid. 

But  from  the  time  when  godless  Diomede, 

And  that  curst  Ithacan,  expert  in  crime. 

Dared  desecrate  the  goddess'  sacred  fane, 

Dared  drag  her  mystic  image  forth,  and  kill 

Her  faithful  guard,  and  on  her  virgin  locks 

Lay  bloody,  lustful  hands  unconsecrate: 

From  then  their  hopes  kept  ebbing  back  and  back. 

Their  powers  were  shattered  and  their  goddess'  aid 

Denied.     And  she  with  no  uncertain  signs 

Revealed  at  once  her  outraged  deity. 

Scarce  had  the  sacred  image  reached  the  camp, 

When  glittering  flames  blazed  from  the  staring  eyes. 

And  salty  perspiration  down  her  limbs 

Went  streaming;  and,  oh  wonderful  to  say, 


Act  I.     Scene  2 

Thrice  from  the  ground,  accoutered  as  she  was 

With  shield  and  quivering  spear,  the  image  leaped. 

Straitway  did  Calchas  prophecy  that  all 

Must  forth  again  in  flight  upon  the  sea; 

That  Troy  could  never  by  Argolic  arms 

Be  overthrown,  save  as  they  back  again 

To  sacred  Argos  fared  and  there  regained 

That  heavenly  favor  which  they  first  had  brought 

To  Ilium. 

And  now  have  they  indeed 
Gone  back  to  Greece,  to  seek  fresh  auspices. 
And  win  once  more  the  blessing  of  the  gods. 
And  soon,  and  suddenly,  the  sea  retraced, 
Will  they  be  here  again.     So  Calchas  bade. 
Meanwhile,  by  that  same  prophet  warned,  did  they 
This  wooden  image  fashion  to  appease 
Th*  offended  goddess,  and  atonement  make 
To  her  outraged  divinity.     And  more — 
The  prophet  bade  them  form  an  image  huge 
Of  oaken  beams,  of  such  proportions  vast 
That  through  no  gate  of  Troy  could  it  be  led. 
Nor  set  within  the  walls,  lest  thus  once  more 
The  people  from  their  ancient  deity 
Protection  find.     For  if  Minerva's  gift 
Should  by  your  hands  be  desecrated,  then 
Would  dreadful  doom  (Heaven  send  it  on  their  heads) 
Upon  old  Priam  and  his  Phrygians  come; 
But  if  within  your  walls  this  sacred  horse 
Should  by  your  voluntary  hands  be  set. 
Then  would  all  Asia  rise  with  one  accord, 
And  sweep  in  mighty  war  against  the  Greeks, 
And  that  dire  doom  upon  our  grandsons  fall. 


lOI 


102  The  Fall  of  Troy 

Scene  3 

The  Trojans  are  entirely  satisfied  with  this  explanation  and  treat  Sinon  with 
respectful  consideration.  At  this  juncture,  two  huge  serpents  come  up  out  of 
the  sea  and,  while  the  people  flee  shrieking  away  on  all  sides,  they  make  their 
way  to  Laocoon  where  he  stands  sacrificing  at  the  altar,  and  enfold  him  and 
nis  two  sons  in  their  deadly  coils  (195-227). 

Scene  4 

Great  excitement  follows.  People  say  that  Laocoon  has  perished  justly, 
since  he  impiously  violated  the  sacred  horse;  and  loudly  demand  that  the 
creature  be  taken  within  the  walls  (228-249). 

A  voice  from  the  crowd: 

Oh,  dreadful  punishment,  but  well  deserved; 
For  with  his  impious  spear  he  smote  the  oak, 
The  sacred  wood  to  Pallas  consecrate. 

Another  voice: 

Now  haste  we  and  within  our  city  lead 

This  horse  portentous,  and  with  humble  prayer 

Minerva's  aid  and  pardoning  favor  seek. 

They  hastily  enlarge  the  gate,  attach  ropes  to  the  horse,  and   put  rollers 
under  its  feet;  many  willing  hands  lay  hold  of  the  ropes  and  pull  the  horse 

.  I\?'  .u  ^?  ^.  f'""^^  "^^"^^  *°^  ^^'^^  around  the  workers.  The  horse  sticks 
at  the  threshold  of  the  gate,  and  Cassandra,  who  has  been  looking  on  as  one 
entranced,  cries  out  forebodingly. 

Cassandra : 

O  fatherland!     O  Ilium,  home  of  gods! 
Ye  walls  of  Troy,  in  war  illustrious! 
See  there,  upon  the  threshold  of  the  gate. 
The  monster  halts — again — and  yet  again! 
And  from  its  rumbling  hold  I  hear  the  sound 
Of  clashing  arms!     O  Troy!     O  fatherland! 

But  the  people,  not  heeding  her,  press  on  and  disappear  within  the  city 
walls  with  the  wooden  horse,  on  the  way  to  the  citadel.  Everywhere  are  heard 
sounds  of  delinous  joy. 


ACT  II 


Act  II.     Scene  i 

Night.  The  chamber  of  ^neas.  He  lies  sleeping  calmly  upon  his  couch. 
Enter  Ghost  of  Hector,  wan  and  terrible,  bearing  in  his  hands  the  sacred 
images  of  the  Penates. 

yEneaSy  starting  up  to  a  sitting  posture,  as  if  talking  in  a  dream  (281-286): 

O  light  of  Troy,  O  prop  of  Trojan  hopes. 

What  slow  delays  have  held  thee  from  our  sight, 

O  long  awaited  one?    Whence  com'st  thou  here  ? 

We  see  thee  now,  with  hardships  overborne, 

But  only  after  many  of  thy  friends 

Have  met  their  doom,  and  after  struggles  vast 

Of  city  and  of  men. — But  what,  alas. 

Has  so  defiled  thy  features?     Whence  these  wounds 

And  horrid  scars  I  see? 

Hector,  with  deep  sighs  and  groans  (289-295): 

Oh,  get  thee  hence, 
Thou  son  of  Venus,  flee  these  deadly  flames. 
Our  foemen  hold  the  walls;  our  ancient  Troy 
Is  fallen  from  her  lofty  pinnacle. 
Enough  for  king  and  country  has  been  done; 
If  Troy  could  have  been  saved  by  any  hand, 
This  hand  of  mine  would  have  defended  her. 
But  now  to  thee  she  trusts  her  sacred  gods 
And  all  their  sacred  rites;  take  these  with  thee 
As  comrades  of  thy  fates;  seek  walls  for  these. 
Which,  when  the  mighty  deep  thou  hast  o'ercome, 
Thou  shalt  at  length  in  lasting  empire  set. 

He  makes  as  if  to  give  the  sacred  images  to  iEneas,  and  vanishes. 

105 


h 


1 06 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


A  confused  sound  of  distant  shouting  and  clashing  of  arms  fills  the  room. 
yEneas  leaps  from  his  couch,  now  fully  awake,  and  stands  with  strained  and 
attentive  ears.  The  truth  dawns  upon  him  as  the  sounds  grow  clearer,  and  as 
he  can  see  from  his  window  the  red  flames  of  burning  Troy.  He  snatches  up 
his  arms  and  is  rushing  from  the  room  when  Panthus  hurries  in  bearing  sacred 
images  in  his  hands  and  leading  his  little  grandson. 


Apneas  (322): 

My  friend,  where  lies  the  battle's  central  point? 
What  stronghold  do  we  keep  against  the  foe? 

Panthus  (324-335): 

The  last,  the  fated  day  of  Troy  is  come. 
The  mighty  glory  of  the  Trojan  state 
Is  of  the  past,  and  we,  alas,  no  more 
May  call  ourselves  of  Ilium;  for  lo. 
The  cruel  gods  have  given  all  to  Greece, 
And  foemen  lord  it  in  our  blazing  town; 
The  great  horse  stands  upon  our  citadel. 
And  from  his  roomy  side  pours  armed  men; 
While  Sinon,  gloating  o'er  his  victory. 
With  blazing  torch  is  busy  everywhere. 
Down  at  the  double  gates  still  others  press 
For  entrance,  all  Mycenae's  clamorous  hosts, 
And  weapons  thick  beset  the  narrow  streets. 
In  battle  order  stand  the  long  drawn  lines 
Of  gleaming  steel  prepared  for  deadly  strife. 
Scarce  do  the  sturdy  watchmen  of  the  gates 
Attempt  to  hold  their  posts  against  the  foe. 
But  in  the  smothering  press  fight  blindly  on. 

At  this,  i^neas  joins  Panthus  and  together  they  rush  out  into  the  city. 


Act  II.     Scene  2 


107 


Scene  2 

A  street  of  Troy,  lit  by  the  moonlight  and  the  glare  of  burning  buildings. 
Trojans  rush  in  from  different  sides  and  rally  to  yEneas. 

^«^d!J  (348-354): 

O  comrades,  O  ye  hearts  most  brave  in  vain, 
If  you  have  steadfast  minds  to  follow  one 
On  desperate  deeds  intent,  you  see  our  case: 
The  gods,  who  long  have  buttressed  up  our  state. 
Have  fled  their  sacred  altars  and  their  shrines. 
And  left  us  to  our  fate.     You  seek  to  aid 
A  city  wrapped  in  flames.     Then  let  us  die 
And  in  the  midst  of  death  our  safety  find: 
Our  safety's  single  hope — to  hope  for  none. 

The  little  band  hurries  off  toward  the  noise  of  battle  in  neighboring  streets. 

Enter  from  the  other  direction  straggling  bands  of  Greeks,  drunk  with  victory. 

They  burn  and  pillage  on  all  sides,  temples  and  homes  alike.  Re-enter 
Trojans  led  by  ^neas.  Androgeos,  a  Greek,  thinking  them  to  be  Greeks, 
goes  up  to  them. 

Androgeos  {1^1-11^'. 

Now  haste  ye,  men;  what  time  for  sloth  is  this? 
The  rest  on  fire  and  pillage  are  intent. 
While  you  but  now  address  you  to  the  task. 

Androgeos  suddenly  perceives  that  these  are  foes,  and  is  struck  dumb  with 
amazement.  The  Trojans  rush  upon  him  and  slay  him  together  with  the 
others  of  his  band. 


CorabuSy  one  of  Eneas'  band,  exultingly  (387-391): 

O  friends,  where  kindly  fortune  first  doth  show 
The  path  of  safety,  let  us  follow  there. 
With  these  slain  Greeks  let  us  our  shields  exchange. 
Their  helms  and  breastplates  let  us  don,  and  so 


io8 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


In  all  things  seem  as  Greeks.     When  foemen  strive, 
Who  questions  aught  of  trickery  or  might? 
Our  foes  against  themselves  shall  lend  us  arms. 

They  exchange  arms  with  the  dead  Greeks.  Thus  arrayed,  they  mingle  with 
the  parties  of  Greeks  who  straggle  in,  and  slay  them.  The  Greeks,  not  under- 
standing this  strange  turn  of  affairs,  flee  away  in  terror.  This  action  is 
repeated  at  intervals  several  times. 

Enter  a  band  of  Greeks  led  by  Ajax,  the  Atridse,  and  others,  dragging  Cas- 
sandra roughly  along  by  the  hair.  Her  hands  are  tied  with  thongs.  Coroebus. 
though  the  o<Ws  are  overwhelmingly  against  him,  rushes  in  to  save  his  beloved 
Cassandra.  The  other  Trojans,  because  of  their  disguise  of  Greek  armor,  are 
attacked  by  their  own  friends  stationed  at  near-by  points  of  vantage;  and  now 
the  Greeks  themselves,  recognizing  the  ruse  at  last,  overwhelm  the  little  Troian 
band  by  force  of  numbers.  Other  Greeks  pour  in  from  all  sides  and  add  their 
Tro*?ns°f  11    '   ^  ^^^  Trojans.     In  the  desperate  encounter  many  of  the 

^neas  performs  Herculean  feats  of  arms,  and  slays  many  Greeks,  but  is 
himself  unhurt.  At  last  he  and  a  few  followers  escape  into  a  street  leading  to 
i'nam  s  palace,  whence  loud  and  continued  shouting  can  be  heard 


Scene  3 

At  Priam's  palace  (viewed  from  without),  desperately  attacked  by  Greeks 
and  defended  by  Trojans,  (a)  The  assailants  attempt  by  scaling  ladders  to 
mount  to  the  flat,  turreted  roof  of  the  palace,  while  the  defendants  hurl  down 
upon  these  darts  and  stones,  and  pry  off  whole  towers  which  fall  with  a  mighty 
crash.  The  air  is  filled  with  the  thunderous  noise  of  these  falling  masses  and 
with  the  other  confused  shouts  and  sounds  of  a  desperate  conflict. 

{d)  Pyrrhus  with  a  strong  band  of  Greeks  is  endeavoring  to  batter  down  the 
gates  of  the  palace  at  its  main  entrance. 


Scene  4 

Priam's  palace  from  within.  All  is  confusion  and  terror.  Women  rush 
from  room  to  room,  with  disheveled  hair  streaming,  and  with  cries  of  wild 
despair.  A  crowded  mass  of  men  are  attempting  to  defend  the  main  entrance. 
Overhead  can  be  seen  and  heard  the  defenders  on  the  roof  opposinj?  the 
attack  from  without.  ° 

In  the  central  open  court  of  the  palace,  upon  the  steps  of  a  great  altar  over- 
shadowed by  a  laurel  tree,  Hecuba  and  a  group  of  women  have  seated  them- 
selves, huddling  there  m  the  hope  of  protection  from  the  sanctity  of  the  altar. 
Suddenly  old  Priam  comes  out  into  the  court,  hurriedly  adjusting  his  armor. 


Act  II.     Scene  4 

Hecuba^  calling  to  him  (519-524): 

What  dost  thou  there,  of  reason  all  bereft, 
O  wretched  husband?     What  avail  those  arms? 
Or  whither  speedest  thou  with  tottering  steps? 
Such  aid  and  such  defense  as  thou  canst  give 
Cannot  avail  us  now,  nor  Hector's  self, 
Could  he  come  back  to  us.     Come  hither  then; 
These  sacred  altar  stairs  shall  shield  us  all. 
Or  in  their  sight  will  we  together  die. 

Priam  joins  the  women  at  the  altar. 

But  see,  Polites  comes,  by  Pyrrhus  pressed; 
Through  hostile  arms,  through  halls  and  colonnades, 
He  flees  alone  in  sore  distress  of  wounds, 
While  Pyrrhus  follows  hard  with  deadly  aim. 
And  now.  Oh,  now  he  grasps  and  thrusts  him  through. 
Polites  falls  dead  at  the  feet  of  Priam  and  Hecuba. 


109 


Priam ^  springing  up  and  facing  Pyrrhus  (535-543): 

For  that  base  crime  of  thine,  that  impious  deed, 
I  pray  the  gods,  if  there  are  gods  in  heaven 
Who  care  for  men,  to  grant  thee  dire  return. 
And  give  thee  what  thou  hast  so  richly  earned. 
For  thou  hast  slain  my  son  before  my  face, 
And  with  his  blood  defiled  his  father's  eyes. 
But  that  Achilles,  whom  thou  falsely  claim'st 
As  sire,  did  not  so  treat  his  royal  foe. 
But  held  in  reverence  the  sacred  laws. 
My  Hector's  corpse  he  gave  for  burial 
And  sent  me  back  in  safety  to  my  home. 

He   hurts   his  spear  with   feeble   strength   at    Pyrrhus.     The    spear   sticks 
ineffectually  in  the  opposing  shield. 


no 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


i    . 


Pyrrhus,  scornfully  (S47-550): 
Then  bear  this  message  to  my  noble  sire: 
Fail  not  to  tell  him  all  my  impious  deeds, 
And  how  unworthy  has  his  Pyrrhus  proved. 
Now  die. 

\.^^  ^'u^^f*'^''^'^  ™*"  ^?  ^^^  ^^^"   ^"^  s^ays  hi«»  there.     Exit   Pyrrhus 
leaving  the  bloody  corpse  of  the  old  man  upon  the  ground.     The  women  are 
earned  off  as  prisoners  by  the  Greeks  who  now  come  thronging  in 


Scene  5 

In  the  now  deserted  palace  near  the  shrine  of  Vesta 
protection  within  the  shrine. 


Helen  is  lurking  for 


yEneaSf  passing  by  and  seeing  Helen  (577-587): 

Shall  this,  the  common  scourge  of  friend  and  foe, 

Unscathed,  behold  her  native  land  again? 

Her  husband,  home,  her  sire  and  children  see? 

Shall  she  as  conquering  queen  go  proudly  back, 

Attended  by  a  throng  of  Trojan  slaves? 

Shall  Troy  have  burned  for  this,  old  Priam  die, 

And  all  the  Trojan  plain  have  reeked  with  blood? 

It  shall  not  be.     No  fame,  I  know,  is  earned 

By  woman's  punishment;  such  victory 

Has  little  praise;  but  yet  I  shall  be  praised 

For  having  utterly  destroyed  this  wretch. 

And  on  her  head  inflicted  vengeance  dire. 

It  will  be  sweet  to  feed  my  passion's  flame, 

And  satisfy  the  ashes  of  my  friends. 

appelrl'be7ot' h!m"'°  '""^  '^""'  "^''  ^^^"'^  ^"°^'  "^^^  ^"^^^^^  Venus 
Venus  (594-620): 

What  grief  inflames  thee  to  this  boundless  wrath? 
What  madness  this,  my  son  ?  And  whither,  pray, 
Has  fled  thy  care  for  us?     Bethink  thee,  first. 


Act  II.     Scene  5 

Where  thou  hast  left  thy  father,  spent  with  age; 

Whether  thy  wife,  Creusa,  still  survives; 

Bethink  thee  of  Ascanius  thy  son. 

For  they  are  hemmed  about  on  every  side 

By  hostile  Greeks;  but  for  my  shielding  care. 

Already  would  the  flames  have  swept  them  off. 

And  swords  of  enemies  have  drunk  their  blood. 

'Tis  not  the  beauty  of  the  Spartan  queen 

That  should  arouse  thy  hate,  nor  shouldst  thou  blame 

Thy  kinsman,  Paris;  for  the  cruel  gods. 

The  gods,  I  say,  have  laid  thy  city  low. 

And  overthrown  the  lofty  walls  of  Troy. 

Behold  —  for  I  will  straight  remove  the  mist 

Which,  dense  and  clinging,  clouds  thy  mortal  sight; 

Do  thou  but  be  obedient  to  my  words; 

Here,  where  thou  seest  huge  masses  overthrown. 
Rocks  torn  from  rocks,  commingled  smoke  and  dust. 
Great  Neptune  with  his  trident's  fearful  stroke 
Causes  the  walls  to  rock  upon  their  base. 
Here  Juno,  first  of  all,  with  savage  mien. 
Besets  the  Scaean  gates,  and,  girt  with  steel, 
In  fury  calls  her  allies  from  the  ships. 
Now  turn  thine  eyes  unto  the  citadel. 
And  there  behold  Triton ian  Pallas  stand. 
All  blazing  with  the  war-cloud's  lurid  glare. 
And  that  fell  Gorgon's  head.     Nay  Jove  himself 
Inspires  the  Greeks  with  courage,  gives  them  strength. 
And  whets  the  gods  against  the  Trojans'  arms. 
Betake  thee  then  to  flight  and  end  thy  toils. 
For  I  will  never  leave  thee,  till  at  last 
I  bring  thee  safely  to  thy  father's  house. 
iEneas,  overcome  by  these  revelations,  and  resigned  to  fate,  retires. 


Ill 


I 


Act  III.     Scene  i 

_  The  atrium  in  the  palace  of  ^neas.  The  aged  Anchises  lies  prone  upon 
the  couch.  Creusa,  Ascanius,  and  other  members  of  the  household  are  huddled 
together  in  the  same  room,  listening  in  awestruck  silence  to  the  confused 
sounds  of  battle  without.  The  room  is  lit  by  the  red  glare  of  burninir 
buildings.     Enter  ^neas,  breathless  with  his  haste.  ^ 

.^neas,  going  up  to  his  father  and  attempting  to  lift  him  in  his  arms  (635,  636): 
O  father,  all  is  lost;  come,  flee  with  me, 
While  still  the  fates  and  angry  gods  allowj 
Come,  let  me  bear  thee  on  my  shoulders  broad 
Unto  the  shelter  of  Mount  Ida's  slopes. 

Anchises,  resisting  (637-649): 

If  all  is  o'er,  and  Troy  is  in  the  dust, 
Why  should  I  wish  to  prolong  this  worthless  life 
In  exiled  wanderings?     Turn  ye  to  flight. 
Who  feel  the  blood  of  youth  within  your  veins, 
Whose  sturdy  powers  still  flourish  in  their  prime. 
If  heavenly  gods  had  wished  me  still  to  live. 
They  would  have  saved  this  home  wherein  to  dwell. 
Enough  and  more,  that  I  have  seen  one  fall 
Of  Troy,  and  once  outlived  my  captured  town. 
Then,  even  as  I  lie  in  seeming  death. 
Address  my  lifeless  body  and  be  gone. 
I'll  quickly  gain  the  boon  of  death  I  seek: 
The  enemy  will  pity  me  and  slay. 
Or  else  will  slay  me  for  my  noble  spoils. 
As  for  the  loss  of  burial  due  the  dead, 
'Twill  not  be  hard  to  bear.     Too  long  on  earth 
I  spend  my  useless  years,  abhorred  of  heaven, 

115 


* 


ii6 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


Since  when  the  sire  of  gods  and  king  of  men 
Blasted  my  body  with  his  lightning's  breath, 
And  marked  me  with  his  scorching  bolt  of  flame. 

^neas  and  all  the  household  join  in  entreating  Anchises  to  go  with  them 
(651-653): 

The  heavy  hand  of  fate  is  on  us  all; 
But  do  not  thou,  O  father,  seek  to  add 
To  this  our  weight  of  sorrow,  and  o'erthrow 
Our  fortunes  utterly. 

But  the  old  man  stubbornly  persists  in  his  refusal. 

^neaSy  seeing  his  father  immovable  (656-670): 

And  didst  thou  think  that  I  could  leave  thee  here, 

O  father,  and  betake  myself  to  flight? 

And  has  such  monstrous  utterance  as  this 

Fall'n  from  a  father's  lips?     If  heaven  has  willed 

That  nothing  from  this  city  vast  survive; 

And  if  thy  mind  is  firmly  set  to  die, 

And  'tis  thy  pleasure  to  our  ruined  Troy 

To  add  thyself  and  all  thy  family — 

The  door  to  that  destruction  opens  wide: 

Soon  Pyrrhus  will  be  here,  his  murderous  hands 

Reeking  with  Priam's  blood,  who  slays  the  son 

Before  his  father's  eyes,  and  eke  the  sire 

Upon  the  sacred  altar's  very  steps. 

Was  it  for  this  that  thou,  through  sword  and  flame, 

0  fostering  mother,  didst  deliver  me, 
That  midst  the  very  sanctities  of  home 

1  should  behold  the  foe,  that  I  should  see 
Ascanius,  my  father,  and  my  wife 

All  weltering  in  one  another's  blood? 


Act  III.     Scene 


117 


Nay  rather,  arms!   My  men,  in  haste  bring  arms! 

Attendants  bring  him  his  sword  and  shield  which  he  hurriedly  fits  in  place. 
The  last  day  calls  the  vanquished  to  their  death. 
Let  me  go  forth  to  meet  the  Greeks  again. 
Once  more  sustain  the  desperate  battle  shock. 
We  shall  not  all  in  helpless  slaughter  die. 

..'^^"rvf- '".["'^  v^/""^*'^   ^^^  ^°°^'  ^^^^  C^eusa  intercepts  him,  pushing 
toward  him  their  little  son,  Ascanius.  pusuiug 

CJreusa,  kneeling  (675-678): 

If  thou  art  going  forth  to  seek  thy  death. 

Oh,  take  us,  too,  with  thee  to  share  thy  fate; 

But  if  thy  wisdom  bids  thee  still  to  hope 

In  sword  and  shield,  here  make  thy  final  stand, 

And  guard  thy  home.     To  whose  protection,  pray, 

Is  young  lulus  left,  to  whose  thy  sire? 

To  whom  can  I,  once  called  thy  wife,  appeal? 

Suddenly  a  tongue  of  flame  is  seen  to  leap  and  play  among  the  locks  of  the 
Doy.     His  parents,  in  consternation,  attempt  to  extinguish  this,  but  to  no  effect. 

Anchtsgs,  seeing  the  portent,  starts  up  with  wondering  joy,  stretching  his 
hands  upward  in  prayer  (689-691): 

O  Jove,  if  thou  art  moved  by  any  prayer, 
Look  on  us  now;  this  only  do  I  ask; 
And,  if  our  piety  deserves  the  boon. 
Help  us,  O  father,  and  confirm  these  signs. 

A  sudden  crash  of  thunder  resounds  without,  and  through  the  open  implu- 
vium  a  bright  star  is  seen  shooting  across  the  sky. 

Anchises y  rising  from  his  couch  in  trembling  haste  (701-704): 
Now,  now  is  no  delay;  I'll  follow  thee, 
O  son,  wherever  thou  wouldst  have  me  go. 
O  gods,  on  whom  our  fatherland  depends, 


ii8 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


11! 


Preserve  my  house,  preserve  my  grandson  too. 

From  you  has  come  this  heavenly  augury, 

And  on  your  will  divine  does  Ilium  rest. 

I  yield  me  then,  O  son,  into  thy  hands. 

And  would  no  more  refuse  to  go  with  thee. 

Meanwhile  from  without  the  glare  of  the  conflagration  increases,  and  the 
shouting  of  the  victorious  Greeks  is  heard  approaching  nearer  and  nearer. 

^neas  (707-720): 

Come  then,  dear  father,  mount  upon  my  back; 

For  on  my  shoulders  will  I  carry  thee, 

Nor  will  I  find  that  burden  overhard. 

Whatever  comes,  'twill  come  to  both  of  us; 

We'll  share  misfortune  and  deliverance  too. 

He  takes  the  old  man  upon  his  shoulders,  first  spreading  over  his  back  a 
lion's  skin. 

Let  young  lulus  fare  along  with  me. 

But  at  a  distance  let  my  wife  note  well 

The  way  I  take.     And  ye,  attendants,  hark 

To  what  I  say.     Without  the  city  walls 

There  is  a  mound,  where  stands  an  ancient  fane 

Of  Ceres,  all  alone;  a  cypress  tree 

Of  ancient  stock,  preserved  with  reverent  care 

For  many  generations,  overhangs 

The  temple  walls.     Be  this  our  meeting  place, 

To  which  by  devious  ways  in  many  bands 

We  all  shall  come. 

Do  thou,  my  father,  carry  in  thy  hands 

The  sacred  emblems  and  our  household  gods; 

For  me,  late  come  from  strife,  and  stained  with  blood, 

'Twere  sacrilege  to  touch  the  holy  things, 

Till  I  have  cleansed  me  in  some  running  stream. 

With  his  father  upon  his  shoulders  and  leading  lulus  by  the  hand  he  takes 
his  way  out  of  the  house.     The  household  follows,  leaving  the  room  deserted. 


Act  III.     Scenes  2,  3,  and  4 


119 


Scene  2 


A  dark  street  near  the  Ida  gate,  ^neas,  Anchises,  and  Ascanius  as  before 
Suddenly  through  the  darkness  there  comes  the  distant  sound  of  feet  and 
shouting  as  of  pursuers.  ° 

Anchises,  peering  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  (733,  734): 

Oh,  speed  thy  steps,  my  son;  the  foe  are  near; 

I  see  their  gleaming  shields  and  flashing  spears. 

afttr  Wm!  "^"^^^  ^^'*^°'  ^''  '^^^^  ^"^  ^^^"^^^  '^^  '"°^'  ^'«  ^^"d  hurrying 

Scene  3 

At  the  ancient  temple  of  Ceres  without   the  walls.     The   fugitives   come 
straggling  m  in  various  bands,  a  motley  array,  ^neas  and  his  immediate  fol 
lowers  among  the  rest,     ^neas  watches  them  as  they  come  and  gather  about 
h,m,  counting  and  identifying  them.     He  now  discovers  that  Creusfu  missing! 
yEneas  (738-748): 
Alas,  Creiisa,  by  what  wretched  fate 
Hast  thou  been  overwhelmed?     Where  art  thou  now? 
Hast  wandered  from  the  way,  or,  spent  with  toil. 
Hast  thou  given  o'er  the  journey?     Woe  is  me! 
My  eyes  shall  never  more  behold  thy  face! 

What  god  or  man  is  guilty  of  this  crime? 

Or  what  more  cruel  deed  have  I  beheld 

In  all  our  stricken  town? 

To  his  friends: 

Behold,  my  friends, 

To  you  my  son  and  sire  and  household  gods 

Do  I  commend,  while  I  reseek  the  streets 

And  ruined  dwellings  of  our  fallen  Troy, 

If  haply  I  may  find  her  once  again. 

^_  He  puts  on  his  full  armor,  and  rushes  back  through  the  dark  gate  into  the 

Scene  4 

A  deserted  street  in  Troy,  lit  up  fitfully  by  smoldering  fires.     yEneas  enters 

Vr^l  ''sudt^^  ^^r?  °%^^^  ^^^^^'^"^  -"-^  lo^udly  upof  the  name  of 
nis  wite.     Suddenly  a  shadowy  form  appears  before  him. 


120 


The  Fall  of  Troy 


The  Ghost  of  Creusa  (776-789): 

What  boots  it  to  indulge  this  storm  of  grief, 

O  dearest  husband?     For  be  sure  of  this, 

That  not  without  permission  of  the  gods 

Have  these  things  come  to  pass.     'Twas  not  allowed 

That  thy  Creusa  should  go  hence  with  thee. 

Nor  does  Olympus'  ruler  suffer  it. 

To  distant  lands,  long  exiled  must  thou  roam, 

Must  plow  the  water  of  the  vasty  deep, 

Until  thou  come  to  that  far  western  land, 

Where  Lydian  Tiber's  gently  murmuring  stream 

Rolls  down  through  rich  and  cultivated  fields. 

There  joyful  state  and  kingdom  wait  for  thee, 

There  one  who  is  allotted  for  thy  wife. 

Then  dry  the  tears  which  now  affection  sheds 

For  thy  well-loved  Creusa,  once  thy  wife; 

For  'tis  not  mine  to  see  the  haughty  seats 

Of  Myrmidonian  or  Dolopian  foes; 

Nor  shall  I  go  to  serve  the  Grecian  dames. 

Proud  princess  of  Dardania  that  I  am, 

By  marriage  made  the  child  of  Venus'  self. 

But  Cybele,  great  mother  of  the  gods. 

Detains  me  still  upon  these  Trojan  shores. 

Then  look  thy  last  upon  me,  and  farewell. 

And  let  our  common  son  employ  your  love. 

iEneas  starts  forward  with  a  cry  to  embrace  the  ghost,  but  it  eludes  his 
grasp  and  vanishes  from  sight.  He  sorrowfully  turns  away  and  leaves  the 
scene. 

Scene  5 

The  gray  dawn  breaks;  Mount  Ida  looms  dimly  in  the  distance;  the  exiles 
a  weary,  discouraged  band  of  men,  women,  and  children,  take  their  way  out 
into  the  unknown  world. 


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